CAPTAIN 
ZILLNER 


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CAPTAIN   ZILLNER 


CAPTAIN    ZILLNER 

A   HUMAN    DOCUMENT 

BY 

RUDOLF  JEREMIAS  KREUTZ 

TRANSLATED   BY 

W.   J.    ALEXANDER    WORSTER 

ORIGINALLY    PUBLISHED   IN   SCANDINAVIA 
UNDER  THE  TITLE 

DEN    STORE    FRASE 

(the  great  phrase) 


HODDER   AND   STOUGHTON 

LONDON   NEW  YORK   TORONTO 


PT24.2J 

S7^ 


CHAPTER  I 

THRorjGH  the  streets  of  Vienna  rode  the  shade  of  the 
hero.  Prince  Eugene.  '  Prinz  Eugen,  der  edle  Bitter 
.  .  .  ' — youth  and  age  were  humming  the  same  old  song. 
Youth  and  age  thronged  in  the  highways  of  the  city, 
ardent,  enthusiastic,  with  clenched  fists  threatening 
Belgrade. 

Lieutenant  Hans  Zillner  stood  watching  the  crowd, 
noting  the  chaotic  beauty  in  its  unity  of  purpose :  the 
common  eagerness  for  war.  Soberly  critical  as  was  his 
nature,  he  could  not  help  feeling  a  thrill  at  the  subjec- 
tive power  of  these  masses  that  swirled  like  a  flood  over 
the  streets  and  squares.  Everywhere,  at  any  time,  the 
crowd  was  always  ready  for  a  patriotic  demonstration, 
with  hoarse -throated  shoutings  of  excited  zeal.  But 
to-day  the  street  scene  had  a  tinge  of  something  more 
than  this — something  almost  awe-inspiring.  Streets  and 
byeways,  and  the  broader  thoroughfares,  were  filled  with 
this  new  spirit,  that  surged  abroad,  sweeping  all  before 
it,  in  that  fifth  hour  of  the  afternoon  on  the  1st  of  August 
1914.  There  was  but  little  sign  of  haste  ;  each  man  was 
taking  time,  as  it  were,  to  fall  into  the  new  order  of 
things.  At  every  corner,  heavy-lettered  placards  flung 
out  the  command  :    General  Mobilisation. 

The  young  ofticer  strolled  down  the  Ring.  Many 
women  passed  him,  and  as  he  looked  into  their  faces 
he  seemed  to  read  there  earnestness,  and  something  of 
fear,  but  fear  under  restraint.  The  men's  faces,  too,  he 
studied  curiously.  Most  of  them,  he  fancied,  wore  an 
absent  look,  as  if  the  mind  were  occupied  within,  uncer- 
tain of  its  attitude  as  yet.  Only  a  few  walked  boldly 
and  jauntily,  with  heads  in  air — young  officers  these, 
for  the  most  part.    He  stopped  on  a  sudden  impulse, 

A 


^:49C28 


2  CAVJM^':  ZILLNER 

and  looked  .et  himself  in. the giass  of  a  shop  window. 
Strange; he  toi)'l66k(ed'  justk  little  nervous. 

He  reached  the  imposing,  over-decorated  offices  of  the 
War  Ministry,  and  was  rather  surprised  to  find  no  con- 
centration of  the  crowd  outside.  There  were  about  a 
hundred  people  gathered  round  the  Radetzky  Monu- 
ment, mostly  young  men  of  the  student  class.  '  Gott 
erhalte,'  they  sang,  with  faces  upraised  towards  the 
kindly  smiling  countenance  of  the  warrior's  statue  ; 
they  bared  their  heads,  and  gave  the  full  force  of  their 
lungs  to  the  song.  When  the  last  note  of  '  Oesterreich 
wird  ewig  stehn '  had  died  away,  a  man  climbed  the 
steps  of  the  pedestal,  and  made  a  speech,  full  of  great 
words  and  phrases  ;  the  soul  of  empire,  and  its  awaken- 
ing, eternal  ignominy,  final  expiation,  and  the  like.  He 
was  just  at  the  end  of  his  peroration,  exalting  '  the  un- 
alterable will  to  do  the  deed  '  when  another  crowd  came 
pouring  out  from  the  direction  of  the  Custom  House, 
with  black-and-white  and  black-red -and -yellow  flags 
at  the  head.  And  suddenly  they  broke  into  a  new 
song,  the  '  Wacht  am  Bhein.' 

'  Lieb  Vaterland,  magst  ruhig  sein  .  .  .  '  a  storm  of 
strong  and  confident  assurance. 

Zillner  had  remained  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  pave- 
ment ;  the  crowd  was  growing  denser  now  on  every  side. 
It  was  a  heterogeneous,  casual  gathering,  brought  to- 
gether by  the  moment.  And  all  looked  up  with  eager 
eyes  at  the  windows  of  the  great  War  Office  building, 
lit  now  from  without  by  the  setting  sun. 

'  Wir  alle  wollen  Huter  sein ! '  The  young  singers 
poured  out  their  vows  in  a  chorus  of  unshaken  faith 
that  filled  the  square,  and  hovered  above  the  living  wall 
now  growing  thicker  every  moment,  until  at  last  the 
wall  itself  moved,  surged  forward  over  the  street,  and 
broke. 

The  singers  were  swallowed  up  in  a  moment,  engulfed 
in  the  dark  swarm  of  the  crowd.  The  smiling  warrior 
held  out  one  bronze  hand  as  if  in  benediction  over  a  sea 
of  heads,  all  bared.    The  square  was  filled  with  a  heav- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  8 

ing,  swirling  mass,  growing  greater  and  denser  as  new 
streams  poured  in  from  side  streets  and  corners.  The 
tram  service  was  suspended  altogether,  the  poUce  were 
helpless  as  buoys  in  the  flow  of  the  tide. 

Zillner  had  been  carried  away  by  the  rush  of  the  crowd, 
and  stood  now  facing  one  corner  of  the  monument. 

'  Lieb  Vaterlaud,  magst  ruhig  sein, 
Fest  sieht  und  treu  die  Wacht,  die  Wacht  am  Rhein' 

Thousands  were  singing  now,  and  ever  again  rose  a 
thunder  of  '  Hoch  '  and  '  Hurrah  '  until  the  very  ground 
seemed  to  tremble. 

A  little  man,  with  a  gold  watch-chain  stretched  across 
a  prominent  waistcoat,  and  beads  of  perspiration  on  his 
nose,  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  cried,  '  Forward,  Austria  ! ' 
Two  ladies  waved  their  parasols  enthusiastically,  and  a 
young  man  shouted  '  Nazdar,^  the  Czech  hurrah,  a 
Slav  note  in  the  German  chorus,  bearing  witness  to  the 
concord  of  nations. 

A  man  close  by  turned  on  the  Czech  excitedly.  '  We 
don't  want  any  of  your  "  Nazdar  "  here.  This  is  a 
German  affair,  and  no  business  of  yours.' 

The  young  Slav  shrank  back,  but  a  burly  citizen  came 
to  the  rescue.  '  Leave  the  boy  alone.  He  's  the  right 
sort,  anyway  ;  let  him  say  it  how  he  likes.' 

'  So  he  is,'  joined  in  the  gentleman  with  the  prominent 
watch-chain.  '  Let  there  be  no  discord  at  this  solemn 
hour.'  And  he  raised  one  hand  on  high,  pointing  to- 
wards the  evening  sky,  all  blue  and  green  and  gold. 

'  Ahem  !  This  manifestation  of  the  common  purpose, 
the  unity  of  the  nation  thus  spontaneously  expressed,  is 
proof  that  Austria  is  prepared  for  action ;  ready  to  show 
its  will  in  the  actual  deed.  Yes,  "  Wir  alle  wollen  Hiiter 
sein!^^ — we  are  all  prepared  to  guard — to  guard ' 

'  Guard  what  ?  '  grumbled  out  a  deep  bass  redolent  of 
beer.     '  There  's  no  Rhine  here  that  I  know  of.' 

But  the  eloquent  speech  was  not  continued.  A  burst 
of  wild  cheering  suddenly  broke  out,  and  was  repeated 
again  and  again.    At  one  of  the  windows  in  the  War 


4  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Office  building  a  figure  had  appeared,  a  vague  silhouette 
against  the  dazzling  gleam  of  the  flashing  panes.  It  was 
impossible  even  to  see  whether  it  was  an  officer  or  a 
civilian.  But  some  one  in  the  crowd  had  shouted, 
'  There  he  is.  The  War  Minister.'  And  immediately 
the  whole  sea  of  people  answered  to  the  cry,  sending  a 
crashing  cheer  up  to  the  anonymous  shadow  before  them. 

'  Just  like  a  crowd,'  thought  Zillner,  with  a  scornful 
smile.  *  What  a  senseless  beast  it  is.  Cheering  now — 
and  if  things  go  wrong,  they  '11  be  just  as  ready  to  shout 
the  other  way  to-morrow,  and  demand  the  heads  of  the 
innocent  criminals  they  cheer  to-day.'  The  vein  of 
scepticism  in  his  nature,  which  led  him  constantly  to 
look  for  the  reverse  of  things  seemingly  grand,  called  up 
now  in  his  mind  the  picture  of  a  mining  district  in 
Mahren,  where  three  years  before  he  had  fired  on  a 
howling  mob  of  infuriated  strikers.  He  thought  of 
Prague,  where  not  so  long  ago  the  mob  and  the  cultured 
element  had  combined  in  acts  of  ravage  and  destruc- 
tion such  as  one  might  have  thought  to  find  only  among 
primitive  barbarians. 

The  crowd :  a  monster,  untamable,  altogether  unreli- 
able. And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  he  felt  a  warm  thrill  at 
his  heart.  Those  last  few  verses  of  the  '  Wacht  am 
Bhein,^  ringing  out  through  the  air  till  the  song  seemed 
to  have  drawn  the  masses  up  into  itself,  obliterating  all 
inherent  selfishness,  and  leading  even  that  unreasoning 
many-headed  beast  to  vows  of  patriotic  devotion — he, 
too,  for  a  moment  had  felt  the  glamour  of  it  all ;  had 
seen  all  things,  as  it  were,  through  a  veil,  and  felt  with- 
out shame  the  hot  tears  welling  up  into  his  eyes.  After 
all,  there  was  something  magnificent  in  it  all ;  in  the 
thing  that  lay  behind  this  bitterly  solemn  hour.  Mobili- 
sation :  no  empty  word,  but  a  terrible  reality.  Leave- 
taking,  and  a  setting  out  from  home,  to  face  hardships 
and  misery,  mutilation,  death.  For  many,  a  captivity 
from  which  they  would  never  return.  It  was  the  ordered 
life  of  a  v.hole  people  suddenly  thrown  out  of  gear. 

For  an  hour  or  more  he  stood  there  among  these 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  5 

thousands  of  his  fellow-men,  who  understood  what  this 
thing  meant,  saw  all  the  horror  that  lay  behind  it,  and 
yet  cried  out  full-throated  welcome  now  that  it  had 
come. 

*  If  they  mean  it — if  they  can  keep  it  up — ^we  must 
win,'  said  Zillner  to  himself,  his  eyes  gleaming.  But  he 
could  not  help  casting  a  glance  at  the  portly  gentleman 
with  the  perspiring  nose,  who  was  speechmaking  again, 
turning  out  whole  leading  articles  with  catch-words 
such  as  '  Indo-Germanic  brotherhood,'  the  '  heroic  ideal,' 
the  '  irresistible  advance  of  iron  wheels  ' — a  litany  of 
sounding  phrases.  *  Pot-bellied  braggart.  Always  these 
miserable  ineligibles  that  have  most  to  say.  Optimistic 
fools.  Yet,  if  only  the  country  could  hold  on,  in  spite 
of  them.  .  .  .  But  was  it  possible,  after  all  ?  '  There 
was  doubt  in  Zillner's  mind  as  he  forced  his  way  through 
the  close-packed  throng,  and  made  towards  the  centre 
of  the  town.  The  square  was  still  full  of  people,  and  more 
came  crowding  in  continually,  to  stand  staring  patiently 
up  at  the  windows,  behind  which,  in  nervous  haste,  the 
advance  of  the  Austrian  forces  w^as  being  prepared.  He 
walked  on,  bowed  beneath  a  weight  of  heavy  thought, 
when  suddenly  there  was  the  rattle  of  a  sabre  at  his  side, 
and  a  voice  hailed  him  cheerily  by  name. 

He  turned,  and  a  big  hand  grasped  his,  as  though 
intent  on  crushing  it.  It  was  Karl  Albert  Kraft,  the 
painter,  his  big  frame  squeezed  into  a  tight  service  uni- 
form, and  a  smile  in  his  fine  eyes.  '  Funny  to  come 
across  you  at  the  very  start.     Piece  of  luck,  I  call  it.' 

'  But  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  '  asked  Zillner  in 
surprise.     '  I  thought  you  were  in  Berlin.' 

'  I  was.  And  came  home  like  a  shot  as  soon  as  we 
got  the  news.  Wouldn't  have  missed  this  for  anything.' 
He  linked  his  arm  in  Zillner's,  and  the  two  friends  walked 
up  through  the  twilight  towards  the  Opera  House. 

*  It 's  wonderful,  you  know,'  went  on  Kraft,  '  all  this 
spontaneous  feeling.  All  the  grey  everyday  life  trans- 
figured— all  one  wave  of  patriotic  feeling.  Look  at  the 
streets    here — all    these    thousands — and    then,    "  Die 


6  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Wacht  am  Rhein  ..."  All  answering  to  one  call. 
.  .  .  And  on  the  way  in — every  station  crowded  with 
people,  shouting  and  singing.  .  .  .' 

'  And  at  home  ?  In  Bohemia,  what  do  they  think 
of  it  there  ?  ' 

'  There  too.  The  same  everywhere.  It 's  grand.  The 
old  dream  has  come  true  at  last.  Austria  the  Great. 
All  the  wild  forces  of  war  let  loose  ;  no  more  thinking 
about  petty  little  local  politics,  no  more  question  of 
Czech  or  Slav  ;  all  are  united  now.  War.  That 's  the 
magic  word  that  grips  their  hearts.  It 's  all  one  father- 
land now,  Austria.' 

'  Do  you  really  believe  that  the  Czechs  and  Ruthenians, 
the  Poles  and  Italians  and  the  Magyars  have  turned 
Austrians  in  a  moment  just  because  the  same  thing 
threatens  us  all  ?  Austria  has  always  been  our  country 
— ^but  will  this  make  it  theirs  ?     I  doubt  it.' 

'  Oh,  you  eternal  unbeliever,'  laughed  the  other. 
'  Look  about  you  and  see.' 

The  electric  lamps  were  lighting  up  all  down  the 
Ringstrasse.  Bodies  of  troops,  in  varying  numbers, 
came  marching  up,  with  flags  and  cheering.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  noisy  enthusiasm,  boys  shouting  and 
laughing,  and  plainly  over-excited.  The  people  on  the 
pavements  looked  on  somewhat  coolly  at  the  maudlin 
demonstration,  a  caricature  of  the  true  feeling,  and  due 
chiefly  to  a  natural  reaction  against  the  hard  necessity 
that  forced  them  to  go  with  the  rest,  whether  they  would 
or  no. 

'  I  don't  care  much  for  patriotism  that  smells  of  beer,' 
said  Zillner. 

His  companion  looked  out  thoughtfully  toward  the 
restlessly  flickering  lights.  '  One  or  two  of  them  here 
and  there  may  be  drunk,'  he  admitted.  '  But  what 
does  it  matter — a  tiny  speck  of  base  metal  here  and 
there,  when  all  the  gold  is  aglow.  Think  of  the  wonder 
of  it  all — from  Trieste  to  Prague.  This  Austria  of  ours, 
always  hesitating,  doubting  up  to  now,  has  pulled  itself 
together  at  last.    The  world  used  to  shrug  its  shoulders 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  7 

at  us  in  scorn — ^Austria  would  never  do  anything.  But 
now — they  are  beginning  to  look  up  in  surprise.  And 
they  will  end  in  admiration.' 

'  If  we  win,  you  mean  ?  * 

'  If  I  We  must  win.  There  is  no  question  of  that. 
When  nations  unite  as  we  have  done  now,  under  one 
empire,  they  are  invincible.' 

They  turned  off  into  the  Karlsplatz,  where  the  mighty 
dome  of  the  church  stood  out  vaguely  against  the  starlit 
sky.  From  the  gardens  of  the  Konzert  Haus  came  the 
sound  of  music. 

'  I  'm  going  out  to  supper,'  said  Zillner.  '  Sort  of 
farewell  party,  you  know.  It 's  a  pity,  though ;  we  might 
have  spent  the  evening  together.' 

'  But — does  that  mean — surely  you  're  not  giving  up 
your  berth  in  the  War  Office  ?  ' 

'  My  dear  fellow,  you  don't  think  I  could  stay  on  here 
doing  office  work  now  ?  You  '11  be  with  your  old  regi- 
ment— so  we  shall  be  in  the  same  brigade.' 

'  Well,  that 's  good  news.'  The  painter  grasped  his 
friend's  hand  warmly.  '  I  'm  awfully  glad  you  're 
coming.     It  '11  be  a  grand  time,  you  '11  see.' 

'  Until  the  dying  begins,'  said  Zillner,  with  a  laugh. 

'  Puh  !  As  long  as  the  business  itself  goes  off  all  right, 
that 's  all  that  really  matters.  Oh,  it 's  a  wonderful 
thing  to  think  it 's  come  at  last.' 

The  two  friends  parted  at  the  entrance  to  the  gardens, 
and  went  their  separate  ways. 

The  fashionable  restaurant  was  filled  to  overflowing. 
Tables  were  set  under  the  scanty  foliage  of  the  city -bred 
trees,  that  seemed  gasping  for  air.  An  atmosphere  of 
leave-taking  was  everywhere  apparent ;  a  carelessly 
sentimental  farewell  to  the  easy  life  of  everyday,  the 
clinking  of  glasses,  wishes  for  success  and  a  happy  re- 
turn, and  a  fine  confidence,  which,  as  the  wine  passed 
round,  grew  to  unshakable  assurance  of  victory.  The 
band  played  German  potpourris,  waltzes,  and  popular 
tunes  from  the  Vienna  music-halls,  with  every  now  and 


8  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

again  a  more  serious  note,  in  keeping  with  the  occasion. 
Prince  Eugene's  song,  '  0  du  mein  Oesierreich '  and  the 
Radetzky  March  broke  in  continually  upon  the  lighter 
music  of  the  customary  programme,  like  a  ribbon  of 
steel  about  a  bouquet  of  delicate  roses.  And  each  time 
a  storm  of  clapping  and  cheering  rang  through  the  place, 
to  be  heard  far  out  across  the  street,  and  echoed  by 
the  excited  crowds  outside.  The  military  element  pre- 
dominated ;  uniforms  were  everywhere.  The  only  men 
in  civilian  dress  were  a  few  in  the  covered  verandah, 
elegantly  got-up  elderly  gentlemen  of  the  Hofrath  type, 
as  a  kind  of  soberly  distinguished  binding  to  the  richly 
decorated  Sdition  de  luxe  of  this  new  national  work. 
Many  of  the  men  in  uniform,  however,  had  evidently 
only  recently  put  off  their  everyday  clothes.  They  were 
spectacled  and  bearded  gentlemen,  proud  but  a  little  em- 
barrassed in  their  tight  tunics,  and  with  yellow  leggings 
on  their  peaceable  calves — officers  of  the  Landsturm, 
conscious  of  their  dignity.  Here  were  a  couple  of  grey- 
haired  cavalry  officers,  who  had  never  advanced  beyond 
the  rank  of  lieutenant ;  old  warriors  of  the  feudal  type, 
anxious  to  take  part  in  the  campaign,  and  ready  to  shed 
their  last  drop  of  blood  in  their  country's  service,  with 
a  preference  for  the  higher  staff  appointments  if  obtain- 
able. In  a  word,  a  splendid  and  varied  picture  of 
patriotic  manhood,  framed  in  the  bravely  simulated 
gaiety  of  their  womenfolk,  while  above,  the  stars  in 
their  thousands  twinkled  indifferently  down  upon  the 
throng. 

Zillner  soon  discovered  the  party  he  was  seeking. 
Lieutenant  Baron  Krottenburg,  with  his  wife,  and  some 
brother  officers,  sat  at  a  table  not  far  from  the  entrance. 
Zillner  knew  them  all,  but  there  was  one  of  the  men 
whom  he  was  not  altogether  pleased  to  meet  again. 
Captain  Zapperer,  of  the  General  Staff,  was  one  of  those 
men  who  make  successful  careers.  And  Zillner  did  not 
care  to  be  reminded  of  the  old  days  at  the  Cadet  School, 
where  his  own  progress  had  been  checked  by  an  inherent 
lack    of   diplomatic    adaptability,    while    others,    like 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  9 

Zapperer,  better  able  to  ingratiate  themselves  in  the 
proper  quarters,  had  wormed  their  way  into  the  bottle- 
green  of  the  General  Staff.  And  to-day  of  all  days, 
when  the  dream  of  every  soldier  was  about  to  be  fulfilled, 
he  could  well  have  dispensed  with  Captain  Zapperer.^ 

The  party  greeted  him  heartily  as  he  came  up. 

'  You  're  ever  so  late,  you  know,*  said  Baroness  Lisl 
in  her  idly  graceful  way.  '  And  it 's  really  a  pity,  for  the 
war  's  almost  over,  isn't  it,.Moritz  ?  ' 

Krottenburg,  a  strikingly  handsome  man  of  imper- 
turbable self-possession,  looked  up  with  a  serious  air. 
*  Well,  w^e  were  just  trying  to  work  it  out,  you  know — 
see  how  long  it  ought  to  take  us.  Opinions  are  divided. 
I  say,  by  about  the  end  of  October.  By  that  time,  we 
shall  have  made  a  few  decent  charges,  the  autumn  rains 
will  be  coming  on,  and  messing  up  all  the  ground,  the 
horses  will  be  about  done  up,  and  then  it  '11  be  time  to 
stop.     Can't  go  on  without  the  horses,  you  know.' 

'  By  Christmas  Eve,  not  a  day  longer,'  put  in  von 
Pelzl,  a  man  of  spherical  build.  'The  Russians  will  be 
done  for  by  then.  But  here,  the  General  Staff  ought  to 
know  all  about  it.  Zapperer,  you  're  the  high  Court  of 
Appeal.     WTiat  do  you  say  ?     Now  listen.' 

Zapperer,  General  in  spe,  had  been  sitting  with  his 
features  composed  in  an  expression  of  gallant  conde- 
scension which  he  was  wont  to  assume  at  the  toast  of 
'  The  Ladies  ' ;  he  changed  it  in  a  moment,  however, 
and  put  on  another  mask,  according  to  the  formula  : 
'  Prepare  to  attack  '  (stern  tension  of  the  facial  muscles, 
deep  vertical  wrinkles  down  the  brow,  d  la  NapoUon)  ; 
and  in  a  voice  of  unchallenged  authority,  he  delivered 
his  opinion.  'There  can  be  no  question.  We  must 
take  the  offensive,  and  maintain  it,  regardless  of  cost. 
That,  gentlemen,  is  the  only  way  to  victory.  Forward 
unceasingly,  march  them  down  without  mercy — and 
that  simultaneously  on  both  fronts.  The  Chief  holds 
the  same  view.' 

'  H'm,'  put  in  Zillner.  '  A  bold  plan,  a  very  bold 
plan.    Not  even  Napoleon  ventured  to  work  on  those 


10  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

lines.  He  took  the  offensive  against  what  he  considered 
to  be  the  most  dangerous  enemy  position.  That  he 
dealt  with  himself,  leaving  his  marshals  to  keep  the  rest 
in  check.' 

The  representative  of  the  General  Staff  laughed  in 
superior  scorn,  as  one  accustomed  to  refute  with  per- 
fect ease  whatever  ridiculous  objections  might  be  put 
forward  by  ordinary  mortals  of  lower  intelligence. 
'  Napoleon's  methods  are  a  thing  of  the  past.  Modern 
war  is  too  expensive  for  that  sort  of  thing.  We  must 
use  the  start  we  have  got  to  the  best  advantage.  Serbia, 
of  course,  will  go  to  pieces  by  itself — an  impoverished 
country,  rotten  with  corruption  in  all  departments,  and 
seriously  weakened  by  the  late  war.  The  v/hole  thing  is 
perfectly  simple.  A  concentric  invasion  in  three  columns, 
and  then  on,  like  a  steam  roller,  to  Kragujevacs,  to  the 
heart  of  Serbia  itself.  Belgrade  will  collapse  auto- 
matically. By  the  18th  of  August,  or  say  the  end  of 
the  month  at  latest,  the  country  will  be  at  His  Majesty's 
feet.  The  Chief,  I  may  say,  holds  the  same  view.  Then 
as  to  Russia ' — this  with  a  deepening  of  the  wrinkles  in 
his  brow — '  there,  I  admit,  we  have  more  serious  diffi- 
culties to  face.  And  for  that  very  reason,  we  must 
tackle  the  Russians  at  once,  before  they  are  able  to 
operate  in  full  force.  It  will  take  them  a  month  to 
mobilise  ;  for  the  present,  ten  army  corps  is  the  utmost 
they  can  put  into  the  field.  We  have  fourteen,  count- 
ing the  reserve  formxations,  and  within  seven  days  of 
mobilisation  they  can  be  in  position  in  Galicia.  Then, 
on  to  Kiev,  without  delay,  occupying  the  place  before 
the  enemy  has  had  time  to  concentrate  his  main  force. 
The  Polish  insurgents,  of  course,  and  the  Independents' 
party  in  Ukraine,  will  come  over  to  us  as  we  go  on. 
There  are  sixty  millions  of  non -Russians  longing  to  throw 
off  the  Muscovite  yoke.  As  regards  the  question  of 
time,  then,  the  whole  campaign,  down  to  the  last  decisive 
battle,  should  be  practically  over  by  the  15th  of  October. 
Our  armies  will  then  ' — the  speaker  raised  his  eyebrows, 
and  spoke  in  an  easier  tone — '  will  then,  making  allow- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  11 

ance  for  possible  delays,  by  the  end  of  November,  or  at 
latest  the  beginning  of  December,  have  occupied  South 
Russia,  and  be  able  to  dictate  the  terms  of  peace  from 
there.* 

Baroness  Lisl  leaned  over  to  Zillner,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear.  '  Really,  I  can't  stand  much  more  of  this,' 
she  said.  '  Conceited  nonsense — it  makes  one  simply 
ill  to  hear  it.  And  to  think  that  thousands  must  give 
their  lives  to  let  these  windbags  put  their  theories  to 
the  test.     It 's  too  horrible.' 

But  the  rest  of  the  company  seemed  in  the  main  to 
agree  with  the  principles  laid  down  by  Zapperer  in  his 
instructive  Lecture.  The  rate  of  progress,  as  there 
indicated,  was  very  satisfactory  indeed.  They  would 
be  back  in  Vienna  for  Christmas  after  all — the  very 
thing.  Lieutenant  Graf  Selztal,  a  little  man  who  had 
said  nothing  up  to  then,  but  sat  silently  putting  away 
glass  after  glass  of  Gumpoldskirchner,  suddenly  woke  up 
and  croaked  out  fiercely  :  '  That 's  it — go  in  and  rush 
them  down — the  dogs.     Rush  them  down.     Hurrah  1 ' 

Captain  Pelzl  glanced  across  at  Baroness  Lisl,  who  was 
staring  before  her,  slightly  pale,  and  deep  in  thought. 
'  And  you.  Baroness,  what  do  you  say  to  the  war  ?  ' 

'  If  you  care  to  know,'  she  began,  turning  her  eyes 
upon  him  with  a  sudden  flash,  '  I  think  .  .  .  '  Sud- 
denly she  gave  way,  and  burst  out  passionately,  her  voice 
choking  with  tears.  '  Oh,  it  is  madness,  a  wicked, 
wicked  madness.  The  thousands  that  must  die,  the 
thousands  that  must  be  crippled  for  life — ^and  why, 
why  ?  To  move  some  frontier  this  way  or  that  ?  Will 
that  make  any  one  happier  ?  What  do  I  care  for  their 
frontiers  ?  I  want  my  husband.  If  I  lose  him,  what 
is  there  left  ?  What— is— there— left— to— me  ? '  She 
broke  down,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause.  Captain  Zapperer 
of  the  (xcneral  Staff  laughed  scornfully.  Krottenburg 
was  helpless  and  embarrassed.  '  Lisl,  my  dear,'  he 
said  kindly,  in  his  easy  drawling  voice,  '  how  can  you 
talk  such — such  nasty  socialistic  stuff  ?    And  just  when 


12  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

we  're  going  to  begin,  and  all — ^you  unsoldierly  little 
beggar/ 

Pelz],  the  heavyweight,  gave  a  little  laugh.  '  Mulier 
taceat  in  hello.    Pardon,  Baroness,  but  you  know  ...  * 

'  Not  at  all.  You  're  quite  right.  It  was  very  stupid 
of  me.'  Baroness  Lisl  looked  over  at  her  husband  with 
earnest  eyes  ;   her  lips  still  trembled. 

'  She  's  wildly  in  love  with  him,  poor  thing,'  thought 
Zillner  to  himself. 

Pelzl  rang  his  glass  to  call  for  silence.  '  Here  's  to 
our  next  merry  meeting.  All  of  us  here,  this  day  next 
year.  All  of  us.  Beat  the  lot  of  them,  and  a  safe  return 
to  us  all.' 

The  whole  party  drank,  clinking  their  glasses.  But 
Lisl  whispered  to  her  husband, '  Moritz,  I  can't.  I  don't 
care  if  we  win,  if  only  you  come  back — you  must  come 
back  to  me.  .  .  .' 

'  Little  stupid  ...  of  course  I  shall.' 

Some  one  suggested  champagne  as  a  pick-me-up, 
though  the  party  had  drunk  a  good  deal  of  wine  already. 
KJrottenburg  was  for  going  round  to  somewhere  else — 
'  Grabencafe,  for  instance — it 's  more  fun  there.'  The 
motion  was  carried,  and  the  bill  was  called  for. 

They  were  preparing  to  leave,  when,  for  about  the 
tenth  time  that  evening,  the  band  struck  up  '  GoU 
erhalte.'  All  rose  to  their  feet,  the  officers  at  the  salute. 
^  Heil  dent  Kaiser,  Heil  dem  Lande,  Oesterreich  wird 
ewig  stehn'  A  tumult  of  '  Hochs '  and  '  Hurrahs ' 
crashed  out  from  all  sides,  with  a  ringing  of  glasses  at 
the  tables. 

*  Infernally  powerful  thing,  that  hymn,'  said  Zillner 
to  Baroness  Lisl.  '  Say  what  you  will  about  the  words 
— the  music  is  wonderful.  I  can't  help  feeling  a  little 
cold  shiver  every  time  I  hear  it.' 

'  Yes,'  agreed  the  Baroness,  still  pale,  and  speaking 
half  to  herself.     *  Infernally.  ...  Yes  ...  ' 

As  they  neared  the  entrance,  a  tall,  thin  man  in 
general's  uniform  passed  in,  walking  with  rapid  steps. 
The  officers  stood  aside  and  saluted,  Zapperer  with  a 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  18 

rigidity  indicative  of  the  profoundest  respect.  For  it 
was  none  other  than  the  Chief  himself,  Conrad  v.  Hot- 
zendoff,  the  Minister  of  War,  the  hope  and  mainstay  of 
all  Austria.  He  was  looking  much  as  usual,  with  the 
characteristic  nervous  twitchings  of  the  muscles  on  the 
left  side  of  his  face,  and  in  the  shoulders. 

'  He  's  aged  a  good  deal  lately,'  observed  Captain 
Pelzl  thoughtfully.     '  Looks  nervous,  too.' 

*  No  wonder,'  said  Zillner.  '  A  man  of  that  forceful 
type  waiting  for  years  to  strike  the  one  decisive  blow, 
and  then,  by  some  inscrutable  providence,  compelled  to 
let  one  chance  after  another  go  by — ^until  it 's  almost 
too  late  .  .  .  ' 

'  Glad  you  take  such  a  hopeful  view  of  things,'  said 
Zapperer,  with  a  sarcastic  grin  to  Zillner. 

'  I  said  *'  almost,"  '  answered  the  other  coldly.  '  No 
doubt  the  exertions  of  our  infallible  General  Staff  will 
pull  the  thing  through.' 

The  others  laughed.  Baroness  Lisl,  clinging  affection- 
ately to  her  husband's  arm,  nudged  him  with  a  bright 
little  smile. 

But  the  ornament  of  the  bottle-green  corps  was  not 
pleased.  '  Very  funny,  no  doubt,'  he  muttered,  with  an 
unfriendly  glance  at  Zillner,  and,  without  any  definite 
excuse,  he  walked  away. 

The  rest  of  the  party,  now  in  the  best  of  spirits,  took 
their  way  to  the  Grabencafe. 

•  •••••• 

Late  next  morning,  Zillner  awoke  with  a  bad  head, 
and  an  uneasy  feeling  that  the  great  day  had  somehow 
ended  awkwardly.  His  party  had  stayed  some  hours  at 
the  Grabencafe,  drinking  a  good  deal  of  champagne, 
with  the  usual  result.  The  solemnity  of  the  occasion, 
which  all  had  felt  at  first,  had  gradually  given  place  to  a 
careless  gaiety.  The  catchy  melodies  from  the  Vienna 
music-halls  had  whirled  them  out  of  all  consciousness 
beyond  the  moment.  Serious  matters  were  forgotten, 
ceremony  was  laid  aside,  all  talked  at  once  and  without 
restraint,  and  the  vein  of  sentimentality  latent  in  the 


14  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Viennese  temperament  asserted  itself.  At  such  times 
men  will  be  moved  to  confide  their  most  intimate  secrets 
to  a  perfect  stranger,  and  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  and 
much  emotion,  embrace  and  console  each  other. 

There  had  been  several  cases  of  the  sort  that  evening. 
And  Zillner,  calling  to  mind  one  episode  after  another, 
as  he  dressed,  felt  something  like  disgust  at  it  all.  One 
fellow  with  a  foolish  sickly  face,  who  might  have  been 
a  shop  assistant,  had  clambered  on  a  table,  and  made  a 
speech  about  the  'Path  of  Heroes,'  quoting  apparently 
from  something  he  had  read,  in  phrases  of  intolerable 
banality  and  the  cheapest  sentiment.  And  that  miser- 
able little  caricature  of  humanity  had  been  lifted  on 
men's  shoulders  and  chaired  round  the  room  with  shouts 
of  applause.  Ugh!  Then  an  old  retired  captain,  a 
withered  relic  with  the  meek  resignation  of  a  long- 
forgotten  pensioner,  had  pulled  out  a  copy  of  the 
Emperor's  manifesto,  and  read  it  aloud :  a  piping 
little  voice,  wheezing  in  senile  emotion,  a  figure  swaying 
this  way  and  that  as  he  read.  And  then  at  the  words, 
'  I  have  given  all  these  things  my  deepest  consideration,' 
he  had  fallen  forward,  unable  to  proceed,  into  the  arms 
of  a  stout  lady,  whom  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  hung 
weeping  on  her  neck,  sobbing  out  again  and  again,  '  Our 
Emperor — our  noble  Emperor,  our  noble  Emperor' — 
until  at  last,  the  lady,  who  had  borne  her  burden  at 
first  with  patriotic  self-sacrifice,  at  last  became  impatient, 
and  looked  round  for  help,  and  a  rescue  party  carried  off 
the  captain  to  the  fountain,  leaving  him  there  to  cool. 
Then  towards  the  end,  there  had  been  a  disturbance  of 
a  different  sort — a  youth,  with  flashing  eyes  and  very 
dirty  cuffs,  had  broken  in  upon  the  general  outburst  of 
martial  enthusiasm  and  wine -heated  acclamation,  by 
shouting  out  suddenly,  '  What  are  you  cheering  for  ?  ' 
And  in  the  pause  of  astonishment  that  followed,  he  went 
on :  'Patriotic  fools  !  What  is  there  to  cheer  about  ? 
Permission  to  go  out  and  murder  your  fellow -men  ? 
A  game  licence,  valid  for  human  souls.  I  say  this 
war  is  a  disgrace  to  civilisation — a  disgrace  .  .  .  '    At 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNKR  15 

this  point  he  had  been  seized  and  thrown  out  of  the  place 
amid  a  chorus  of  angry  cries  :  *  A  Serbian — out  with 
him,  a  Serbian.'  Zilhier  remembered  the  man  distinctly; 
a  face  with  the  passionate  pallor  of  the  fanatic,  that  he 
would  know  among  a  thousand. 

Baroness  Lisl  was  the  only  one  who  had  shown  any 
sign  of  pity  for  the  boy — evidently  an  anarchist.  It  was 
like  her.  Zillner  smiled  as  he  buckled  on  his  sword  : 
yes,  that  was  the  one  bright  spot  in  the  murky  nasti- 
ness  of  that  early  morning  riot.  One  woman  with  her 
splendid  love  for  a  man,  her  charming  scorn  oi  mere  logic 
and  sense.  And  then  Krottenburg,  languid  as  ever, 
impeccably  correct  in  all  things,  taking  it  calmly  as  a 
pasha.  What  a  pair  they  made.  He  remembered  how 
she  had  implored  the  somewhat  fuddled  Pelzl  again  and 
again  not  to  send  her  Moritz  out  on  any  nasty  dangerous 
patrol  work — '  dear  Captain  Pelzl,  you  '11  keep  him 
somewhere  at  the  back,  won't  you — for  my  sake.' 
Pelzl,  of  course,  had  promised  everything.  '  For  your 
sake,  my  dear  Baroness — why,  we  'd  keep  him  at  home 
if  you  asked  it.'  And  that  false,  fat  m.an  had  been  paid 
on  the  spot  with  a  kiss  from  his  subaltern's  wife,  to  the 
uproarious  delight  of  the  rest.  Poor  Baroness  Lisl.  By 
now  she  would  be  sitting  in  a  corner  crying.  And  how 
many  others  in  the  same  plight  as  she,  torn  by  consum- 
ing fear,  tortured  and  broken  by  this  thing — War. 
Thank  Heaven,  there  was  no  one  to  be  miserable  for  his 
sake.     That,  at  any  rate,  he  was  spared.     No  one  .  .  . 

Suddenly  he  remembered  Clarisse.  But  that  was  over 
now.  When  was  it  he  had  seen  her  last  ?  Yes,  at  the 
races,  surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  infatuated  Hussars. 
And  he  had  not  cared.  Clarisse  was  a  physical  attrac- 
tion only — he  would  not  take  that  with  him  to  the  war. 
It  was  over. 

He  stepped  across  to  the  open  window  ;  the  sun  was 
blazing  down  on  the  street  below.  He  drew  in  his 
breath  deeply.  That  Whit  Monday  had  been  just  such 
a  bright  sunny  day.  He  had  been  with  her  then  for 
the  last  time — had  felt  the  ripe  beauty  of  her  thiity 


16  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

years,  and  succumbed  to  its  charm — ^for  the  last  time. 
And  after,  he  had  steeled  himself  to  tell  her  that  he 
would  come  no  more  ;  that  he  felt  himself  degraded  by 
an  intimacy  which  held  nothing  more  than  that,  that 

He  stared  absently  at  the  bare  walls  of  the  tall  build- 
ing opposite,  and  the  close  of  that  scene  rose  once  more 
in  his  mind — her  wide  eyes,  framed  in  a  bluish  shadow, 
and  the  terror  in  them.  '  Hans,  how  could  you  dare,  oh, 
how  could  you.  .  .  .'  And  then  she  had  sprung  up  and 
flung  her  arms  about  him,  stammering  and  trembling. 
*  Say  you  didn't  mean  it,  Hans — let  me  forget  it.  Oh, 
what  have  I  done  ?  Dearest,  my  dearest,  what  have  I 
ever  done  ?  '  But  his  passion  was  gone,  and  he  had 
thrust  her  from  him  brutally.  And  she  had  screamed 
that  he  was  killing  her,  that  she  could  not  live  and  know 
she  was  no  more  than  that  for  him,  and  then  suddenly  a 
change.  Quietly  she  had  risen,  and  left  the  room,  and 
he  stood  there  alone.     He  had  gained  his  freedom. 

But  after  some  long  minutes  she  had  come  back, 
dressed,  pale,  and  proud  as  a  queen.  And  for  a  moment 
he  had  felt  as  if  he  must  crave  forgiveness  of  this  lady 
for  the  words  he  had  said  to  his  mistress.  But  he  could 
find  no  words  to  bridge  the  gulf  between  the  two.  And 
then — his  carriage  was  ready.  He  kissed  her  hand  and 
went.  In  the  doorway  he  turned — ^he  could  see  her 
now  as  he  had  seen  her  then,  seated  at  the  little  writing- 
table,  with  her  head  buried  in  her  hands.  A  late  sun- 
beam played  in  her  hair,  lighting  it  with  a  red-gold 
flame.  And  her  shoulders  moved  convulsively.  .  .  . 
He  had  gained  his  freedom — but  he  fled  from  the  house 
like  a  criminal,  and  flung  himself  into  his  carriage.  That 
pitiful  movement  of  the  shoulders — it  had  haunted  him 
for  days  and  weeks.  What  a  victory  to  have  gained  ! 
He  was  not  a  man  of  prudish  morals,  and  the  part  he 
had  played  here  called  up  all  the  irony  of  his  nature 
against  himself. 

After  a  while  he  had  grown  calmer.  He  had  iv  sumed 
his  quiet  way  of  life,  with  exercise  and  study,  and  felt 
the  better  for  it.    Clarisse  and  her  beauty  had  no  temp- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  17 

tation  for  him  now.  He  had  seen  her  that  day  at  the 
races,  pale  and  handsome  as  ever,  with  the  same  queenly- 
mien,  but  his  heart  had  not  beat  the  faster.  It  was  over 
— and  he  was  glad  to  have  done  with  it. 

He  lit  a  cigarette.  The  memories  faded,  and  the  blank 
wall  opposite,  at  which  he  had  been  staring,  stood  there 
lifeless  and  dull  in  the  sunlight.  It  flashed  across  his 
mind  that  men  on  the  point  of  death  see  visions  of  their 
past ;  that  must  be  what  had  brought  it  all  back  again. 
After  all,  everything  about  him  was  dying  now.  All  the 
easy  pleasures  of  everyday  life — the  greyness  of  that 
life  itself — all  were  crumbling  to  nothing  in  the  rush  of 
the  storm  that  was  sweeping  over  the  earth.  He  him- 
self felt  now,  more  intensely  than  ever  before,  the 
workings  of  that  instinct  which,  as  long  as  earth  shall 
last,  must  be  most  vital  of  all  in  every  man  worth  the 
name — the  instinct  of  battle.  And  now  that  it  was  sure, 
was  there  not  something  behind  the  flutter  of  all  these 
tinsel  phrases  ?  For  him  at  least  it  seemed  so.  It  was 
a  grand  thing  after  all,  to  merge  one's  individuality  in 
the  flood  of  one  great  purpose  ;  a  man's  own  life,  and 
the  little  matters  of  his  own  existence,  were  ridiculously 
small  beside  the  whole. 

Zillner  glanced  rapidly  through  the  morning  papers 
over  his  lunch.  All  had  leading  articles  rejoicing  in 
glowing  words  that  the  hour  for  action  had  come. 
With  the  firm  step  of  a  free  man,  and  inspired  by  the 
grandeur  of  mighty  things  happening  around  him, 
Zillner  hurried  to  the  Ministry  of  War,  to  arrange  for  his 
transfer  to  the  forces  on  active  service. 

Zillner's  brother  officer,  the  poet  Hans  Heinz  Sara- 
patka,  had  been  waiting  for  nearly  an  hour  in  the  lobby 
to  hand  in  his  draft,  and  there  seemed  every  prospect 
of  his  having  to  wait  indefinitely.  The  place  seemed 
full  of  generals  dropping  in  on  their  way  to  the  front. 
One  distinguished  personage  after  another  passed  through 
the  covered  door  to  the  sanctum  where  Major-General 
Brenzler  held  sway  as  the  Minister's  right-hand  man  and 

B 


18  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

all-powerful  confidant.  The  poet  had  to  wait.  Sara- 
patka,  whose  name  unfortunately  betrayed  his  not 
sufifieiently  German  birth — ^he  wrote  as  a  rule  under  a 
German  pseudonym — shook  his  unsoldierlike  mane 
impatiently  from  time  to  time,  and  looking  angrily  at 
his  pink  and  carefully  polished  nails.  Still  no  prospect 
of  admittance.  He  sat  down  on  a  seat  in  the  lobby,  and 
took  out  his  manuscript.  This  time  at  least  he  had 
been  given  a  task  worthy  of  a  poet's  mind.  It  was  a 
Proclamation  '  to  the  People  of  Russian  Poland,'  to  be 
delivered  that  day,  the  third  of  August,  and,  as  the 
Chief  had  put  it,  with  '  Plenty  of  go  in  it,  you  know — 
while  of  course  always  preserving  a  certain  restraint 
and  dignity  of  tone,  as  proper  to  a  document  ema- 
nating from  a  haiserl.  und  kbnigl.  department.'  The 
combination  presented  not  a  little  difficulty  to  effect 
with  harmony,  but  Hans  Heinz  had  called  forth  all  the 
resources  of  his  practised  technique,  and  was  properly 
satisfied  with  the  result. 

He  invariably  found  an  intoxicating  pleasure  in 
reading  his  own  productions  ;  now  also,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  enthusiastic  contemplation  of  his  latest  work, 
finding  beauty  in  isolated  details,  and  something  magni- 
ficent in  the  effect  of  the  whole.  He  tasted  the  words 
inwardly  as  a  connoisseur,  licking  his  lips,  as  it  were,  in 
appreciation.  A  fine  piece  of  work.  The  proclamation 
would  be  flung  out  in  thousands  of  copies,  from  the 
bayonets  of  a  victorious  army,  to  be  eagerly  grasped  by 
a  population  longing  for  deliverance.  It  was  a  noble 
thought,  and  not  unworthy  of  a  poet.  Had  he  not  also 
written  it  with  his  heart's  blood  ?  After  all,  none  but 
the  poet  could  thoroughly  inflame  the  hearts  of  men. 

Sarapatka  found  a  certain  satisfaction  in  this  last 
thought.  This  really  was  the  final  blow — his  work. 
The  Polish  nation  would  be  ultimately  conquered  by  his 
words  ;  the  part  accorded  to  Austria  by  tradition  as  a 
deliverer  would  be  merely  relying  on  brute  force ;  it 
was  the  poetic  element  that  counted.  If  he,  Hans 
Sarapatka,  had  but  been  called  upon  at  the  proper  time 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  19 

to  exhort  the  Serbians,  who  knows  ?  Much  might  then 
have  been  different.     But  it  was  too  late. 

He  sighed  deeply.  With  this  invaluable  work  of  his — 
and  to  let  him  sit  there  waiting — it  was  an  affront,  no 
less.  He  looked  impatiently  at  the  clock.  Twelve. 
A  lanky  general  officer  had  been  sitting  in  there  now  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  in  the  passage  outside  were 
three  Excellencies  and  six  newly  appointed  colonels 
marching  up  and  down.  It  would  be  half -past  one  at 
least  before  he  could  get  in.     Puh  I 

Hans  Heinz  was  therefore  not  displeased  when  Zillner 
entered  ;  after  all,  it  was  a  good  thing  now  and  again 
to  exchange  views  with  a  man  of  some  degree  of  in- 
telligence. 

'  Hail,  Prince  of  Poets,'  cried  Zillner  cheerily.  '  Well 
met.' 

'  Well  met  in  a  solemn  hour,'  returned  Sarapatka. 
'  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  you  're  applying  for  active  service.' 
He  seemed  indeed  to  look  on  it  as  matter  for  reproach. 
*  There  's  a  senseless  uncertainty  of  life  about  the  front. 
Blind  death  in  ambush  everywhere,  thrusting  out  its 
clammy  grip  haphazard,  taking  the  wheat  or  the  tares 
without  distinction.  Bullets  flying,  humming,  striking 
— anywhere,  whether  in  the  brain  of  a  Goethe,  or  the 
body  of  a  crMin,  is  left  to  chance.  It  is  ridiculous. 
Whatever  made  you  do  it  ?  ' 

Zillner  stared  in  blank  astonishment  at  the  smooth, 
colourless  face  of  this  maker  of  books,  with  his  theatrical 
pose.  '  What  on  earth — ^you,  my  dear  fellow,  to  talk 
like  that  ?  You,  our  Tyrtseus.  The  most  fiery  advo- 
cate of  war  yourself  ?  After  all  you  've  written  about 
waking  the  warrior  spirit  of  old — what  was  it — in  the 
sordidly  mercantile  minds  of  our  modern  youth.  And 
commissioned  by  the  Ministry  to  write  out  fiery  pro- 
clamations .  .  .  well  .  .  .  ' 

Hans  Heinz  smiled.  *  How  excited  you  are  to-day. 
Really,  there  's  nothing  to  wonder  at  in  that.  Surely 
a  man  can  write  what  he  feels  as  his  earnest  conviction 
without  being  called  upon  to  prove  it  with  his  blood  ? 


20  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

We  who  supply  the  mtelUgence  of  the  nation  are  surely 
not  to  be  used  as  targets  like  any  common  citizen.  We 
have  our  spiritual  work  to  do,  our  higher  place  to  fill, 
while  the  man  in  the  street' — ^he  snapped  his  fingers 
airily — '  if  he  dies,  well,  it  means  at  the  utmost  the  loss 
of  a  possible  contributor  towards  the  maintenance  of  the 
race.  And  that  only  if  he  is  a  suitable  subject  for  the 
purpose.' 

'  Oh,  well,  ii  that 's  your  .way  of  looking  at  it — I  can't 
think,  though,  whatever  made  you  take  up  a  commis- 
sion.' Zillner's  disgust  was  evident.  He  looked  the 
other  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  asked  point  blank: 
'  Where  do  we  come  in — as  officers  ?  How  are  we  to 
persuade  our  men  of  the  duty  of  giving  their  lives  for 
their  country,  if  we  clear  out  ourselves  as  soon  as  it 
comes  to  the  pinch  ?  ' 

'  Really,  you  know,  this  is  quite — er — ^aggressive.' 
The  poet  seemed  not  in  the  least  abashed.  '  I  hardly 
care  to  argue  in  such  a  tone,  but  still — mutatis  mutandis, 
a  king  has  other  obligations  than  a  coachman.  Take 
the  General  Staff,  for  instance.  Would  our  leaders 
there  expose  themselves  merely  for  the  sake  of  ex- 
ample ?  No — they  have  more  important  duties.  And 
so  have  we.  We ' — his  face  assumed  an  air  of  conscious 
superiority — '  we,  the  creative  artists  of  the  world,  our 
place  once  empty  cannot  be  supplied  from  among  the 
common  herd.  And  that  is  why,  as  I  said,  I  am  sorry 
to  hear  you  are  going  to  the  front.  It  would  be  an  easy 
matter  to  get  you  a  post  on  the  staff.  Or  you  might 
come  over  to  us  in  the  Press  Department  ?  A  man  of 
your  talents — there  would  be  not  the  slightest  difficulty. 
If  you  like,  I  could  speak  to  the  Chief  about  it  to-day.' 

'  Thanks,'  said  Zillner  coldly,  and  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  twitched.  '  Much  obliged  to  you,  I  'm  sure. 
But  I  'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  care  to  do  my  soldiering  in 
that  way.    And  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me  .  .  .  ' 

He  saluted  curtly,  and  went  out. 

Hans  Heinz  Sarapatka  looked  after  him,  shaking  his 
head.    Queer  case  of  violent  infatuation  for  regimental 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  21 

work — it  was  something  outside  his  experience.  The 
psychological  aspect  of  the  thing  interested  him,  he 
found  himself  considering  it  as  '  copy  ' ;  it  would  make 
a  neat  short  story.  Then  he  returned  to  his  proclama- 
tion ;  a  most  important  comma  might,  he  fancied,  be 
transposed  to  advantage — to  attain  the  full  and  har- 
monious effect.  .  .  . 

Zillner  passed  down  the  long  corridor  towards  the 
entrance.  A  clerk  from  one  of  the  ministerial  depart- 
ments came  out  from  one  of  the  many  doors,  glanced  at 
his  service  uniform  with  weakly  blinking  eyes,  and  hurried 
past,  busy  with  his  own  affairs,  walking  lopsidedly  from 
the  weight  of  the  bundle  of  documents  under  one  arm, 
and  glad  that  he  was  not  called,  at  any  rate  for  the 
present,  to  exchange  his  office  stool  for  the  saddle.  If 
later  on  .  .  .  well,  no  doubt  he  would  manage  somehow. 
Poor  ghosts,  thought  Zillner.  Flitting  about  behind 
closed  doors,  in  artificial  light,  while  outside  the  sun 
shone  down  on  sabres  and  rifle  barrels,  guns  and  broidered 
colours.  Poor  ghosts.  Trotting  about  on  their  little 
errands,  glad  of  the  measure  of  security  yet  left  them, 
while  all  about  the  world,  the  clear  light  of  heaven  was 
reflected  in  the  eyes  of  millions  of  earnest  men.  But 
three  days  back  he  too  had  sat  there,  a  petty  soul, 
occupied  only  with  dusty  papers,  his  sabre  a  clattering 
anachronism  at  his  side.  And  to-day  all  that  seemed 
impossibly  distant  and  unreal.  Thank  Heaven,  it  was 
different  now.  His  sabre  was  no  longer  a  trumpery 
thing,  a  superfluous  article  of  dress,  but  a  sword  .  .  . 
a  sword. 

•  •••••• 

That  afternoon  he  sat  at  home  in  his  rooms,  writing 
letters — polite  notes  for  the  most  part,  briefly  announc- 
ing his  departure,  or  business  letters,  arranging  for  the 
disposal  of  his  effects,  and  the  like.  There  came  a 
ring  at  the  bell.  He  had  sent  the  servant  out  to  make 
some  final  purchases,  and  opened  the  door  himself. 

It  was  Clarisse. 

The  two  stood  facing  each  other  in  the  semi-darkness 


22  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

of  the  hall.    Then  Zillner  opened  the  door  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  stammered  out  an  invitation. 

'  You  are  going  away — to  join  your  regiment  ?  ' 
':  *  Yes.' 
^    'When?' 

*  This  evening.' 

Gradually  he  mastered  the  embarrassment  which  had 
at  first  left  him  speechless.  She  looked  past  him  across 
the  room  ;  a  rose  in  the  lapel  of  her  grey  travelling  cloak 
moved  up  and  down,  up  and  down.  .  .  .  Then  she 
spoke  again,  in  the  easy  tone  of  polite  conversation. 

'  This  would  be  quite  ridiculous,  of  course,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  war.  As  it  is,  there  is  nothing  strange.  I 
hope — ^as  old  friends — ^Well,  you  understand,  of  course.' 

'  It  is  most  kind  of  you  .  .  .  '  he  murmured  weakly. 
The  easy  self-possession  of  her  manner  brought  back  his 
old  confusion. 

'  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  your  going  to  the  front. 
Kreutzen  will  take  you  on  his  personal  staff.  It  is  all 
arranged.' 

'  But  I  ...  ' 

'  You  will  not  need  to  move  in  the  matter.  But 
perhaps  you  do  not  care  about  it  ?  '  Her  voice  grew 
suddenly  hard. 

'  I  thank  you — ^but  I  would  rather  not.'  He  bent 
and  kissed  her  hand,  that  trembled  as  he  took  it. 

'  Why  not  ?  A  word  from  me,  and  you  will  be  trans- 
ferred at  once.' 

'  I  should  prefer  to  do  my  soldiering  with  the  regiment.' 

'  Then  you  are  very  foolish  indeed.  You  may  be 
killed  .  .  .  ' 

'  Pardon  me,  but — that  is  my  own  affair.' 

The  trembling  rose  on  the  grey  cloak  ceased  moving 
for  a  moment.  '  Yes,  you  are  right.  Well,  then — 
good-bye.' 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  he  felt  his  hand  in  the 
clasp  of  something  cool  and  vibrating,  then  it  passed. 

'  Clarisse ! ' 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  door  closing  outside. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  23 

*  Fool  I '  was  his  first  thought.  He  flung  himself  down 
on  the  sofa,  staring  before  him  blankly,  furious  with 
himself.  Fool  that  he  had  been.  She  had  come  and 
offered  to  serve  him,  and  he  had  thrust  her  away.  He 
had  behaved  like  a  brute  into  the  bargain.  He  sprang 
up  and  strode  about  the  room.  .  .  .  Yes,  it  was  plain, 
she  loved  him.  Another  would  have.  .  .  .  No.  He 
stopped  dead,  looking  up  in  relief.  '  The  soldier's 
farewell ' — romantic  apotheosis  with  kisses  and  tears. 
After  all,  he  was  glad  it  had  not  come  to  that.  He  sat 
down  at  the  writing-table,  and  lit  a  cigarette,  inhaling  the 
smoke  in  long  draughts.   That  last  touch  of  her  hand.  .  .  . 

Gradually  a  warm  sense  of  satisfaction  came  over  him. 
His  accusing  pride  was  appeased.  She  loved  him — she 
would  always  love  him.  It  rang  through  all  his  nerves 
as  from  tiny  silver  bells.  How  rich  life  was ;  richer 
than  he  had  dreamt. 

•  •  •  •  •  •    -         • 

Stefan,  the  sei-vant,  returning  from  his  errand,  was 
surprised  to  find  his  master  striding  cheerfully  about 
the  room  and  singing.  *  Might  think  it  was  a  wedding,' 
he  grumbled  to  himself, '  instead  of  all  this  going  to  the 
wars.  Nothing  to  sing  about  that  I  can  see.  If  only 
it  was  all  over  and  done  with — ^well,  well.  .  .  .' 

'  Stefan  1 '  The  voice  of  command  brought  Stefan  back 
from  his  pacific  meditations  to  the  stern  reality  of 
the  moment.  '  Got  everything  packed  ?  Sure  there  's 
nothing  you  've  forgotten  now  ?  ' 

'  It 's  all  there  all  right,  sir.' 
p  '  Cab  then,  sharp.' 

Ten  minutes  later  the  two  drove  off,  followed  by  the 
tearful  blessings  of  the  porter's  wife,  through  the  busy 
streets  of  Vienna,  to  the  station. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  barrack  yard  was  filled  with  a  motley  crowd.  Here 
orderly  blocks  of  men,  formed  up  already  into  companies, 
and  waiting  for  their  equipment ;  there  irregular  groups 
of  those  who  had  just  come  in.  Here  was  a  face  still 
aglow  with  a  copper-coloured  flush  from  the  last  tavern  ; 
there  a  pale  slum-dweller,  fresh  from  his  weaver's  bench, 
and  still  all  confused  by  the  sudden  change.  Many  of 
the  youngsters  took  it  gaily,  with  bright  anticipations 
of  adventure.  War  ?  Well,  they  would  do  something, 
at  any  rate.  And  each  was  sure  that  he  at  least  would 
come  back  safe  and  sound.  All  were  furnished  with  a 
last  loving  tribute  from  those  at  home  ;  bundles  of  food 
tied  up  in  handkerchiefs  of  red  or  black  or  blue.  Out- 
side the  gates,  where  the  sentries  marched  up  and  down, 
stood  the  bereaved  :  peasant  women,  shapeless  of  figure, 
with  gaudy-coloured  skirts  and  head-dress ;  factory  girls 
in  threadbare  city  clothes  ;  red-cheeked  kitchenmaids, 
still  snivelling  a  little  at  the  recollection  of  that  last 
bitter-sweet  kiss.  .  .  .  There  were  old  women  too,  still 
standing  there  and  staring — staring  at  the  gate  through 
which  he  had  disappeared,  because  the  Kaiser  had 
called  him.  .  .  . 

But  the  pitch-black  clouds  of  mourning  that  brooded 
over  the  flock  of  sensitive  women  without  the  gate 
failed  to  depress  the  men  within.  The  sense  of  a  com- 
mon fate  built  bridges  of  acquaintance  rapidly,  and  there 
were  many  also  who  knew  each  other  from  the  workshop 
or  the  factory.  The  regiment  was  recruited  from  an 
industrial  town,  and  consisted  chiefly  of  mechanics,  pale 
workers  drafted  from  the  cloth  factories  and  machine 
shops,  where  as  boys  they  had  been  filled  with  socialistic 
doctrine,  and  had  learned  to  regard  the  structure  of 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  25 

modern  society  and  capitalism  as  an  injustice  to  them- 
selves.   Such  men  are  not  the  best  material  for  soldiers 
in  any  State.     But  a  surprising  change  had  taken  place 
in  these  bom  agitators,  who  in  times  of  peace  bowed 
grudgingly  to  the  Moloch  by  which  they  were  ruled. 
Many  were  frankly  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  war  ; 
it  would,  at  any  rate,  be  a  change  from  the  dull  sweating 
monotony  of  their  ordinary  life,  it  offered  them  new 
experiences  and  wonderful  possibilities.     More  remark- 
able still,  all  were  agreed  that  the  war  was  just.     The 
deputies  of  their  party  had  assured  them  that  it  was  a 
war  against  Tsarism,  the  most  powerful  enemy  of  the 
'  Internationale,'  and  of  the  rights  of  free  men.     And 
each  man  felt  himself  now  as  called  upon  to  take  a 
direct  part  in  executing  the  sentence  ;   as  a  part  of  the 
strong  hand  that  was  to  deal  its  crashing  blows  against 
the  bloodstained  giant  of  the  north.     The  press,  too,  had 
done  wonders  in  the  way  of  influencing  public  opinion  ; 
even  national  differences  seemed  forgotten.     The  hot- 
blooded  youths  who  a  month  back  had  railed  furiously 
against  everything  German  in  the  State,  were  now  to  be 
seen  chatting  amicably  with  their  German  comrades 
in  arms.     And  there  were  many  of  these  in  the  Tiefen- 
bacher  Regiment,  burly,  florid-faced  peasants  from  the 
German-speaking   districts   round,   their  rustic   colour 
contrasting  sharply  with  the  workshop  pallor  of  the  rest. 
The  barrack  was  filled  through  all  four  stories  with 
restless  bustle  and  noise.     It  was  no  small  task.     In  three 
days,  three  thousand  naked  civilians  had  to  be  trans- 
formed into  soldiers  fully  equipped  to  take  the  field. 
.The  stores  poured   out  a  stream  of  new  grey  cloth- 
ing, knapsacks,  footwear,  and  dull-glinting  rifles.     The 
wealth  that  had  been  years  accumulating  flowed  now  as 
if  inexhaustibly   from   the   depots,   to   be   distributed 
among  the  waiting  men.     Staff -sergeants  went  about 
swearing  and  perspiring,  orderlies  rushed  hither  and 
thither  on  their  errands,  fatigue  parties  staggered  under 
heavy  burdens,  and  the  rooms  and  corridors  were  hum- 
ming like  a  hive.    Stacks  and  bundles  of  material. 


26  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

underclothes,  weapons,  ammunition,  were  everywhere. 
And  hke  spiders  in  their  webs,  with  innumerable  threads 
running  out  to  every  side,  and  crossing  intricately  here 
and  there,  sat  the  company  commanders  in  their  offices, 
with  details  of  the  mobilisation  arrangements  before 
them.  Now  and  again  they  would  check  or  divert  some 
part  of  the  machinery  when  the  pressure  seemed  to 
threaten  overheating  ;  at  times  one  less  efficient  would 
manage  to  bring  the  whole  thing  to  a  temporary  stand- 
still, when  excitement  or  impatience  led  him  to  interfere 
in  the  chaos  below. 

Among  these  unfortunates  was  Captain  Remigius 
Hallada,  of  Company  Three,  trotting  about  the  office, 
wringing  his  hands,  and  peering  through  his  misty 
glasses.  '  We  shall  be  last  again,  I  know,  if  things  go 
on  like  this.  Last  again.  But  what  can  you  expect, 
when  the  non-coms,  are  never  in  their  proper  places  ? 
.  .  .  Good  heavens,  man,  aren't  those  identifications 
ready  yet  ? '  He  glared  furiously  at  the  wretched  clerk, 
who  was  scribbling  away  till  he  could  hardly  see.  '  Zu 
Befehl,  Herr  Hauptmann — be  ready — in  a  moment.' 

'  In  a  moment — and  how  many  more  ?  Oh  yes, 
they  '11  be  ready  by  the  time  the  war  's  over,  and  we  've 
buried  the  lot  of  them  without.  And  then  we  shall 
have  the  same  old  story :  "  Company  Three  as  usual." 
As  usual.  And  why  ?  Simply  because  Company  Three 
happens  to  be  cursed  with  a  set  of  lame -fingered  scrib- 
blers that  can't  or  won't  learn  their  work.  Gk)od 
heavens  .  .  .  '  He  dashed  out  of  the  office  and  over 
to  one  of  the  barrack  rooms,  where  the  men  were  busy 
with  their  kit.  '  Now,  then,  what 's  all  this  ?  Get 
along,  get  along.  Heavens,  what  a  lot !  Get  along,  for 
heaven's  sake.  What  ?  What 's  that  man  doing  sit- 
ting on  his  cot  ?  Thinks  it 's  a  lounge — ^when  he  ought 
to  be  working  his  fingers  to  the  bone.  Oh,  we  '11  see 
about  that.  Wait  till  we  're  once  at  the  front,  and 
we  '11  see,  we  '11  see  ...  ' 

Hallada  was  a  kindly  soul  at  other  times,  but  at  the 
moment  he  presented  the  distressing  spectacle  of  a  man 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  27 

attempting  to  avert  catastrophe  by  interfering  here, 
there,  and  everywhere.  Company  One  had  a  command- 
ing officer  of  a  different  type.  Captain  Franz  Pfuster- 
meyer  was  a  portly  man,  with  the  blessed  gift  of  taking 
things  coolly,  and  submitting  with  imperturbable  calm 
to  what  appeared  to  be  his  fate.  '  It  *s  all  the  same 
when  you  're  dead,'  was  the  essence  of  his  philosophy. 
'  So  why  hurry  ?  '  He  was  the  senior  captain,  and  the 
fattest  company  commander  in  the  regiment.  The 
declaration  of  war  did  not  seem  to  have  affected  him  in 
the  least.  What  must  be  must,  and  there  was  no  use, 
as  he  put  it,  in  standing  on  one's  head.  He  was  never 
known  to  hurry,  and  he  rarely  raised  his  voice,  but  pre- 
ferred to  do  things  quietly,  and  without  haste.  Now 
and  again,  some  less  phlegmatic  superior  officer  would 
take  him  to  task  for  slackness,  but  he  merely  listened 
politely,  and  quoted  Gotz  von  Berlichingen  in  his  defence. 

The  model  company  commander  was  Lothar  Edler 
von  Grill,  of  Company  Two,  called  by  the  men,  for  some 
reason  or  other, '  Black  Dog.'  Capable,  sharp  as  a  razor, 
and  a  strict  disciplinarian,  he  had  his  men  perfectly  in 
hand  at  all  times.  There  was  never  any  hitch  in  the 
work  of  Company  Two  ;  all  went  on  with  the  regularity 
of  clockwork.  A  model  company  commander — the 
Brigadier  himself  had  said  so.  There  were  some  who 
might  have  preferred  a  less  perfect  state  of  things. 
The  men  knew  him  as  one  who  would  stand  no  nonsense, 
and  young  subalterns  were  not  always  pleased  to  work 
under  him.  But  there  was  no  denying  that  Company 
Two  was  the  smartest  in  the  regiment.  Grill  set  no 
store  by  popularity;  all  talk  of  ties  of  affection,  and 
winning  the  hearts  of  one's  men,  he  simply  laughed  at  as 
nonsense.  The  average  man  was  a  rascal,  and  to  be 
treated  as  such.  Dealt  with  according  to  that  principle, 
he  would  acknowledge  his  master,  and  develop  such 
qualities  as  rendered  him  of  any  use  at  all — it  was  the 
only  way.  Grill  was  unmarried,  and  quite  alone  in  the 
world,  and  his  dominant  passion  was  ambition. 

Zillner  had  been  appointed  to  Company  Four  of  the 


28  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

first  battalion,  having  received  his  third  star  on  joining. 
'  The  men  are  a  decent  lot,  and  sound  at  bottom,'  the 
Colonel  had  said  on  his  arrival.  '  But  you  '11  have  to 
keep  them  well  in  hand.  Not  a  question  of  nationality, 
you  understand — ^we're  all  Hapsburgers  here — ^but  all 
this  Socialist  agitation,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  There  's 
one  man  you  might  keep  an  eye  on  .  .  .  what  was  his 
name  .  .  .  ?  ' 

'  JaroslavNechleba,' prompted  the  Adjutant  at  his  side. 

'  Yes,  that 's  the  man.  Nechleba.  A  nasty  customer. 
Quarrelsome.  Makes  a  lot  of  trouble.  Keep  an  eye 
on  him.' 

The  company  fell  in,  and  Zillner  walked  down  the 
ranks  noting  the  faces  of  the  men,  old  and  young.  And 
he  had  singled  out  the  fellow  at  once — a  big  man  with 
greyish  hair.  The  conscript  looked  up  with  a  peculiar 
smile,  as  if  saying  to  himself :  '  Got  his  eye  on  me 
already — all  right.     I  don't  care  if  he  has.' 

•  •••••• 

For  three  days  the  barrack  roared  and  shook  and 

swelled.  But  on  the  third  day  it  seemed  to  burst,  and 
from  its  belly  trailed  out  a  mighty,  dull-grey,  glistening, 
snake-like  thing  :  the  Regiment. 

•  •••••• 

*  Nazdar  !  Hurrah,  hurrah !  Nazdar  !  Hurrah  I '  The 
cheers  in  two  hostile  tongues  were  blended  in  the  air, 
embracing,  whirling  away  together  in  a  wild  dance 
through  the  streets.  All  the  blessings  and  prayers,  and 
the  hopes  and  curses  seemed  to  ring  in  the  words,  as 
they  rolled  out  in  mighty  waves  of  sound  before  the 
marching  men.  The  home  was  crying  the  last  farewell 
to  its  sons  on  their  setting  out ;  the  home  that  stayed 
behind,  numbed,  impoverished  and  helpless.  Through 
a  cloud  of  joyous  acclamation,  the  Tiefenbacher  Regi- 
ment made  its  way  to  the  station.  There  were  numbers 
of  civilians  in  the  ranks — if  ranks  they  could  be  called. 
The  uniformed  men  made  a  narrow  grey  strip  in  the 
roadway,  interwoven  and  fringed  with  gay  colours  and 
fluttering  shapes.    Girls  and  matrons  had  edged  their 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  29 

way  at  all  parts  into  the  body  oi'  the  column,  till  there 
seemed  more  women  than  men,  and  every  warrior 
appeared  a  Mormon.  Love  tokens  were  evident  also 
at  the  windows  above  ;  handkerchiefs  waving  like  pale 
flames,  little  paper  flags  of  red,  and  white  or  black-and- 
yellow  came  fluttering  down  through  the  air  ;  there  was 
a  rain — a  waterspout — of  flowers.  The  marching  men 
stuck  the  tiny  scented  things  into  their  coats,  or  into  the 
barrels  of  their  rifles,  and  tramped  bravely  and  proudly 
over  those  that  fell  beneath  their  feet. 

The  oflicers  were  hopelessly  wedged  fast  in  the  crowd, 
and  could  only  move  with  it,  nodding  their  thanks  to 
every  side,  waving  their  hands  or  lifting  their  swords  to 
salute.  The  subalterns  were  wreathed  and  hung  with 
flowers — the  dainty  little  hands  at  the  windows  naturally 
aimed  rather  at  slender  youth  than,  for  instance,  at 
portly  Captain  Pfustermeyer,  though  he  too  received 
his  share,  despite  all  attempts  at  warding  off  the  trifles. 
In  the  midst  of  the  throng  waved  the  regimental  colour, 
a  faded  glory  of  silk,  still  bearing  its  earliest  broidered 
device  :  '  Aizeylt  fiir  des  Belches  Herrlichtkeytt '  —  a 
motto  dating  from  the  War  of  the  Succession,  and  pre- 
served through  hundreds  of  battles  since. 

The  avalanche  of  men  rolled  on  towards  the  great 
square,  the  band  now  striking  up  a  catchy  march  tune, 
to  deaden  the  shouting  of  the  crowd.  But  it  was  all  in 
vain — the  music  was  overpowered  and  torn  to  rags,  and 
the  monster  of  sound  kept  on  with  its  incessant '  Nazdar 
— ^Hurrah.'  At  last,  when  the  column  had  passed  in  to 
the  square  itself,  the  tumult  abated.  The  Bishop  was 
there  already,  standing  in  front  of  the  little  altar  used  on 
active  service,  and  surrounded  by  ministers,  and  civil 
and  military  dignitaries.  The  crowd  was  held  back  now 
by  a  strong  force  of  police  :  a  word  of  command  was 
heard,  and  the  regiment  formed  into  battalion  squares. 
A  deep  silence  followed,  and  the  solemn  Mass  commenced. 
The  Bishop  held  out  the  monstrance,  and  three  thousand 
soldiers'  hearts  felt  the  presence  of  Gk)d,  or,  at  any  rate, 
of  something  great  and  unspeakable.    A  solemn  ten- 


80  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

sion  among  the  listeners,  and  then,  alas,  only  a  fat  man 
mouthing  out  colourless  phrases  ;  professional  banalities 
of  duty  to  the  country,  and  the  blessing  of  God.  A 
speech,  nothing  more ;  sordidly  poor  and  commonplace  in 
itself,  and  delivered  with  lofty  episcopal  unction.  Zill- 
ner  listened  impatiently ;  the  presence  of  God  had 
vanished,  and  the  gentle  revelation  of  the  monstrance 
was  gone.  These  priests — ^why  could  they  not  be  con- 
tent to  serve  God  as  His  ministers,  in  silence  ?  Dignity 
of  movement,  costly  robes,  these  were  well  enough,  and 
did  not  mar  the  artistic  symbolism  of  the  ritual  which 
allowed  each  worshipper  to  find  God  in  his  own  way.  But 
always  they  must  speak  aloud — and  their  words  made 
only  vacancy  in  the  heart ;  an  emptiness  wherein  God 
could  not  live.  .  .  . 

At  the  first  notes  of  the  national  anthem,  Zillner's 
impatience  vanished,  giving  way  to  a  thrilling  wonder  of 
intense  emotion.  All  stood  motionless  ;  the  sobbing 
of  many  women  rose  like  one  great  sigh  over  the  square. 

Once  more  the  Bishop  raised  the  holy  symbol,  the 
prelate  now  playing  only  a  minor  part  in  the  showing 
forth  of  the  Divine.  And  the  miracle  of  self-forgetful- 
ness  wreathed  its  halo  about  the  thousands  there.  Then 
the  Radetzky  March  crashed  out,  calling  them  back 
once  more  to  reality. 

The  regiment  marched  past,  before  none  other  than  the 
General  of  Division,  His  Excellency  von  Feldkirch.  '  Au 
revoir  in  Galicia ;  au  revoir,^  cried  the  dapper  General . . . 
and  then  the  avalanche  of  the  crowd  closed  in  once  more, 
still  closer  now,  about  the  men  they  were  soon  to  lose. 
Again  the  furious  cheering,  and  again  a  deluge  of  flowers. 
...  A  couple  of  streets  more,  and  the  railway  station 
came  in  sight,  surrounded  by  a  treble  cordon  of  police. 
There  it  stood,  a  mighty,  impassive  monster,  drawing 
the  grey  snake  closer,  swallowing  it  up.  A  sea  of  human 
beings  foamed  up  towards  it,  broke  on  the  wall  formed 
by  the  police  guard,  and  poured  back  again.  Then,  with 
a  dull  murmur,  it  ebbed  away,  as  the  last  of  the  Tiefen- 
bachers  disappeared  under  the  arch. 


CHAPTER  III 

Rumble,  rumble  .  .  .  good  bye  to  all — to  all — to  all. 
.  .  .  Zillner's  thoughts  followed  mechanically  the  dull 
thump  of  the  wheels  against  the  track,  and  the  train 
steamed  slowly  out  of  the  station.  Wearied  with  the 
excitement  of  the  last  few  hours,  obsessed  by  a  kind  of 
primitive  association  between  the  heavy,  unwilling  drag 
of  the  wheels  at  starting,  and  the  lingering  reluctance  of 
a  farewell  clasp,  he  found  himself  repeating  again  and 
again,  '  Good-bye  .  .  .  good-bye  .  .  .  good-bye '  .  .  . 
imtil  the  train  gathered  speed.  He  glanced  absently 
out  of  the  window ;  the  city  was  akeady  veiled  beneath 
the  smoke  of  its  many  chimneys,  and  disappearing  a 
murky,  greyish  fog.  Then  brown  and  yellow  stubble 
fields  hurrying  past  dark-green  vineyards,  and  peaceful 
white  villages  here  and  there.  Fertile  soil,  drowsing 
under  the  blessing  of  the  sun.  But  wherever  human 
figures  appeared  in  the  shimmering  stillness  of  the  land- 
scape, all  turned  suddenly  to  life  and  movement.  To- 
day the  peasant  had  thrown  off  the  idle  apathy  he 
shared  with  his  fields  ;  his  eagerness  made  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  full-fed  ease  of  the  country  round.  As 
soon  as  a  man  sighted  the  train,  he  would  halt  in  his 
walk,  or  cease  his  work,  and  wave  a  hat  or  an  arm  as  it 
rushed  by,  and  shout  up  :  '  Safe  return — safe  return.' 
All  along  the  line  there  were  groups  of  people  gathered 
by  the  fencing  rails ;  girls  and  children,  mothers  and 
old  men,  shouting  and  waving  their  hands,  staring 
after  the  train  as  if  to  hold  it :  '  Safe  return — safe 
return.' 

The  big  waggons  where  the  Tiefenbachers  sat,  thirty  to 
each,  gave  back  a  fainter  echo.  The  m§n  were  tired, 
and  had  begun  to  settle  themselves  as  comfortably  as 

81 


82  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

they  could.  Many  were  already  asleep,  breathing 
thickly  with  the  fumes  of  beer.  .  .  . 

Every  cottage  near  the  track  had  the  black-and- 
yellow  flag  waving  from  the  roof,  or  thrust  out  from  a 
window  by  the  inmates. 

'  Rather  like  travelling  through  a  newly  discovered 
kaiserl,  und  kbnigL  feiryland,'  observed  Zillner,  with  a 
smile  to  his  companion  opposite. 

'  Exactly,'  agreed  Lieutenant  Jaroslav  Spicka,  with 
a  tinge  of  anxious  deference  towards  his  superior  officer. 
*  If  it  would  only  last.' 

'  I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't.' 

'  I  hope  it  may,  of  course,'  said  the  Czech,  stroking  his 
black  hair,  already  a  little  greyed  at  the  temples.  '  But 
one  can't  help  thinking,  after  all,  that  Russia  is  an 
enormous  country,  with  a  population  .  .  .' 

'  We  are  putting  our  heart  into  the  work — that 's 
more  important  than  numbers.' 

'  But — ^when  the  numbers  are  so  immeasurably  supe- 
rior, will  that  suffice  ?  ' 

'  You  will  soon  learn,  sir,'  said  Zillner  sharply,  '  how 
to  make  it  suffice.'  The  other's  scepticism  annoyed 
him.  He  glanced  round  the  carriage.  There  was  Lieu- 
tenant Dr.  Freischaff,  lecturer  in  Romance  languages 
at  the  University  of  Vienna,  a  blond -bearded  man,  with 
kindly  blue  eyes  and  gentle  studious  face.  He  wore  a 
new  gold  ring  on  his  right  hand — ^very  new  and  very 
bright.  At  the  farther  window  sat  the  two  young 
ensigns,  Walter  von  Prager  and  Geza  Andrei,  talking 
together  in  whispers.  Prager  had  been  called  up  from 
the  studies  he  had  but  just  commenced — he  was  going  in 
for  the  law  ;  the  other  had  come  straight  to  the  regiment 
from  the  Military  College  at  Budapest.  He  was  still 
hardly  more  than  a  child,  with  pink  and  white  cheeks, 
and  but  the  first  shadow  of  a  moustache.  The  two 
young  men  seemed  engaged  in  an  earnest  dispute. 

'  Well,  young  gentleman,  and  what 's  all  the  debate 
about  ?  ' 

The    Hungarian    looked    his    company    commander 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  88 

straight  in  the  eyes.  '  Why,  sir,  I  was  saying  that  the 
Russians  have  been  hereditary  enemies  of  the  Magyars 
ever  since  the  national  disaster  at  Vilagos  .  .  .' 

'  National  disaster.     H'm.     Learn  that  at  school  ?  ' 

The  youngster  coloured.  '  One  learns  the  facts,  of 
course.  .  .  .' 

'  And  draw  your  own  conclusions.     I  see.' 

Andrei  glanced  uneasily  at  his  superior,  uncertain 
whether  perhaps  his  opinions  might  be  unfavourably 
received.  He  pulled  himself  together,  however,  and 
said  resolutely,  '  Surely,  sir,  no  Hungarian  could  look 
at  it  otherwise.' 

'  It 's  all  nonsense,'  broke  in  Prager,  with  an  air  of 
authority,  as  befitting  one  acquainted  with  the  law.  *  In 
the  first  place,  the  affair  you  mention  happened  sixty 
years  ago,  and  can  no  longer  be  considered  as  a  valid 
cause.  Furthermore,  the  principles  of  establishment  in 
the  remaining  half  of  the  realm  are  altogether  opposed 
to  such  recriminations.     Consequently  .  .  .' 

'  Very  well — I  admit  it.  Let 's  talk  of  something 
else.'  Andrei  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  dispose  of  the 
subject,  and  stole  a  covert  glance  at  Zillner,  who  smiled 
pleasantly  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  youngster 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  captain  was  a  decent 
sort,  and  mentally  resolved  to  make  a  good  impression 
at  the  first  opportunity. 

Zillner  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  little  Hungarian,  with 
his  bright  frank  eyes  and  the  delicate  little  vertical 
furrow  between  his  bushy  brows.  A  Hungarian.  Yes — 
and  Zillner  fell  to  thinking  of  the  Hungarians  in  general ; 
those  troublesome  children  of  the  Empire.  He  knew 
their  good  qualities  ;  their  gallant,  ardent  manliness, 
their  chivalrousness  and  natural  dignity.  A  noble  race. 
But  their  chauvinistic  fervour,  their  shortsightedness  in 
all  matters  of  common  policy,  rendered  them  difficult 
to  deal  with  as  a  whole,  Sternly  wise  in  their  internal 
politics,  they  were  surprisingly  narrow  and  mercenary 
in  their  attitude  to  questions  which  concerned  the 
Empire ;    the  idea  of  any  sacrifice  for  the  general  good 

c 


34  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

was  hateful  to  them.  Upon  one  point  all  were  agreed  : 
peasant  and  minister,  citizen  and  noble  alike  maintained 
that  Hungary  should  become  an  independent  kingdom, 
loosed  from  all  ties  that  bound  it  to  the  Empire,  with  its 
own  army,  and  unlimited  freedom  to  manage  its  own 
affairs.  There  was  no  question  here  of  any  possible 
compromise  ;  even  the  leading  statesmen,  while  officially 
supporting  the  existing  state  of  things,  were  at  heart,  as 
Hungarians,  no  less  radical  than  the  rest.  And  to  com- 
plete the  inconsistency,  they  had  supported  Austria's 
prestige,  had  declared  enthusiastically  for  the  war,  and 
shouted  their  '  moriamur  pro  rege  nostro  '  to  the  Kaiser, 
with  a  voice  that  was  heard  throughout  Europe.  Yet 
every  man  of  them  would  a  while  back  have  hailed 
with  delight  any  serious  weakening  of  the  Hapsburg 
monarchy,  if  it  had  paved  the  way  for  the  independence 
of  the  red-white-and-green.  Austria  dissolved  into  two 
halves,  with  two  armies,  each  weak  in  itself,  and  with 
but  the  slightest  bond  between  the  two — the  Hungarians 
would  have  liked  nothing  better.  It  was  vain  to  ad- 
vance logical  arguments  against  the  madness  of  a  suicidal 
policy  which  must  inevitably  imperil  the  very  existence 
of  Austria  as  a  Great  Power — and  Hungary's  share  in 
the  same — while  there  were  enemies  enough  always 
ready  to  take  advantage  of  it.  The  nation  stood  as  one 
man  upon  the  question  ;  all  felt  it  still  as  an  ineradicable 
disgrace  that  they  should  have  been  forced  to  lay  down 
their  arms  in  '48,  and  see  their  country  '  subjugated.' 
The  wound  was  not  healed  yet.  Zillner  had  once  served 
in  a  Hungarian  regiment,  and  knew  many  of  his  old  com- 
rades still ;  first-rate  fellows,  and  excellent  soldiers. 
But  whenever  the  talk  happened  to  turn  upon  these 
two  things,  the  '  disaster  '  of  1848  and  the  question  of 
Hungirian  independence,  these  officers  of  the  kaiserl. 
und  konigl.  army  were  transformed  in  a  moment  to 
stubborn  Magyar  patriots,  insensible  to  all  other  con- 
siderations— and  it  was  best  to  change  the  subject,  if 
possible.  This  apart,  however,  there  were  no  better  or 
more  devoted  soldiers  to  be  found.    A  strange  people  I 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  85 

Even  this  little  cadet — Zillner  cast  a  glance  at  the  two 
young  subalterns,  who  sat  each  in  his  corner,  picking  the 
last  bones  of  a  chicken  they  had  shared — even  this 
beardless  youngster,  fresh  from  a  military  kindergarten, 
was  just  the  same.  Evidently,  it  was  something  which 
they  imbibed  with  their  mother's  milk.  It  was  hope- 
less to  think  of  eradicating  that.  Truly  a  strange 
people  I 

•  •••••• 

The  train  was  passing  through  a  rich  flat  country  ; 
a  landscape  of  broad  plains,  good  to  look  at,  but  a  trifle 
monotonous  in  its  unvarying  fertility.  Corn-fields  in 
endless  succession,  and  nothing  else.  And  everywhere 
the  peasants  greeting  them  with  the  same  old  cry,  wish- 
ing them  a  safe  return.  .  .  . 

The  sun  went  down.  The  train  pulled  up  at  one  of 
the  big  junctions,  where  the  line  turned  off  to  the  north. 
The  Mayor  and  Council  had  turned  out  to  meet  the 
troops,  the  Veterans'  Union  was  there  with  its  banner, 
and  women  and  girls  offered  refreshments.  The  men 
were  given  permission  to  leave  the  carriages,  and  hastened 
to  secure  a  share  of  what  was  going  ;  ices  and  lemonade, 
sausages  and  cigarettes. 

Suddenly  Zillner  heard  some  one  on  the  platform 
calling  him  by  name,  and  a  moment  later  caught  sight 
of  his  battalion  commander,  Major  Blagorski.  '  I  must 
ask  you.  Captain,'  said  the  Major  sternly,  *  to  look  to 
your  men.  Keep  them  better  in  hand,  if  you  please.' 
Zillner  hurried  the  delinquents  into  their  waggons  again. 
'  For  the  future,  I  must  request  that  company  officers 
will  look  after  the  men  at  every  halt,  day  or  night,  and 
take  care  that  none  of  them  are  missing.' 

'  Very  w^ell,  sir.' 

'  And  you  might  come  back  with  me  now,  if  you 
please.  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  the  company 
commanders.' 

Zillner  went  back  to  the  first -class  compartment, 
and  found  several  of  his  brother  officers  there  with 
notebooks  ready ;   Pfustermeyer  making  shift  with  a 


86  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

QTumpled  scrap  of  paper  and  an  inch  of  chewed  lead 
pencil.  Notebooks,  apparently,  formed  no  part  of  his 
field  equipment. 

The  Major  cleared  his  throat.  '  Well,  gentlemen,  if 
you  please,  I  have  sent  for  you  that  we  might  have  an 
opportunity  of  talking  seriously  together — I  trust  we 
may  frequently  be  able  to  do  so  later  on.  Some  of  us ' 
— this  with  a  glance  at  Zillner — '  have  only  recently 
taken  up  their  regimental  work  again,  and  may  have 
lost  touch  with  it  a  little.  There  are  one  or  two  things, 
then,  which  I  would  beg  you  to  note.  First  of  all,  the 
most  important  is  the  internal  administration,  so  to 
speak.  It  is  the  backbone  of  a  regiment,  and  I  may  say 
that  the  Colonel  attaches  particular  importance  to  this.' 

-Then  followed  a  long  series  of  instructions  concerning 
various  details  of  company  work — kit  inspection,  care 
of  health,  order  and  relaxation  of  order  on  the  march, 
and  so  on,  with  hundreds  of  petty  details,  calculated  to 
make  a  soldier  feel  himself  as  a  child  in  leading  strings ; 
a  whole  strait-waistcoat  of  '  hints  '  and  '  suggestions  ' 
which  left  him  no  room  to  breathe. 

'  And,  then,  gentlemen,  one  thing — the  most  import- 
ant of  all.' 

Pfustermeyer  groaned.  He  had  used  up  his  scrap  of 
paper,  and  was  struggling  with  his  second  shirt  cuff. 

'  The  most  important  of  all  is  this  :  the  men  must 
not  be  allowed  to  get  slack  in  matters  of  cleanliness  and 
order  ;  not  even  in  the  field.  They  must  have  time  given 
them  to  clean  themselves  and  their  kit.  You  will  there- 
fore, if  you  please,  instruct  platoon  commanders  to 
inspect  the  men  regularly,  every  day,  after  getting  in. 
During  the  rest,  of  course,  during  the  rest.' 

Zillner  glanced  up  for  a  moment  at  the  kindly,  worn 
face  of  the  old  soldier,  with  its  hundred  tiny  wrinkles, 
that  told  of  a  life  spent  in  unnoticed  toil  and  struggle. 
There  was  a  touch  of  entreaty  in  the  restless  eyes,  that 
seemed  to  say :  *  Don't  make  things  harder  for  me  than 
you  can  help.  If  anything  goes  wrong,  I  shall  get  the 
blame,  so  do  what  you  can  to  help  me  through.'     There 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  87 

was  nothing  domineering  in  his  face ;    only  a  nervous 
anxiety. 

It  was  pitiful  to  see.  The  man  had  been  brought  up 
in  a  school  of  dependence  fitting  him  for  a  subordinate 
command  ;  his  whole  life  had  been  passed  in  leading 
strings,  under  constant  supervision,  meeting  with  little 
consideration  from  his  superiors,  until  there  was  not  an 
atom  of  independence  left  in  him  ;  his  one  thought  was 
to  avoid  censure.  And  there  were  many  like  him  in  the 
service.  It  was  this  hopeless  narrowness  and  constraint 
of  regimental  work,  its  lack  of  all  wider  scope,  which  had 
led  Zillner  from  the  first  to  seek  employment  elsewhere. 
And  now,  despite  the  war,  he  found  it  all  unchanged. 
The  same  routine — and.  nothing  else  could  be  expected, 
for  the  war,  which  was  to  make  a  clearance  of  so  much 
petty  detail,  had  not  touched  them  yet.  But  once  in 
the  firing  line.  .  .  .  The  thought  of  this  man  actually 
under  fire  filled  Zillner  with  a  sudden  compassion. 

'  One  thing  more,  gentleman,  if  you  please.'  The 
Major  settled  his  glasses  on  his  prominent  nose,  and 
fumbled  nervously  with  his  notebook.  '  Kindly  note, 
if  you  please,  that  after  an  engagement,  inspection  will 
be  made  four  hours  after  the  conclusion  of  the  action. 
I  think  that  is  all.     Has  any  one  questions  to  ask  ?  '  -  ^ 

No  one  spoke.  Hallada  shook  his  head.  Grill  stared 
inscrutably  before  him.  Pfustermeyer  was  contem- 
plating his  closely  written  notes  with  much  satisfaction. 

'  Thank  you,  gentlemen,  then  that  is  all.' 

The  company  commanders  rose,  clicked  their  heels, 
and  left  the  compartment,  Zillner  and  Pfustermeyer  last. 

'  Very  tame — very  tame,'  said  the  big  man.  '  Manage 
things  differently  when  I  get  my  step.  Every  man's 
toenails  cut  square  and  fingernails  round,  and  branded 
with  the  company  mark  ;  little  grey  flag  stuck  in  the 
seat  of  his  trousers — then  the  bigwigs  can  see  for  them- 
selves. Ahem !  One  of  Pfustermeyer's  men.  Fine 
fellows.  Can't  mistake  'em.  What  d'you  think  of 
that  ?     Good  idea,  eh  ?     So  long.' 


38  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

The  night  seemed  glaring  with  hot,  fierce  eyes  at  the 
train  as  it  rushed  along — they  were  passing  through  the 
mining  districts  of  North  Mahren,  and  the  furnaces  were 
in  full  blast.  Now  and  again  flames  would  shoot  up 
from  the  chimney,  lighting  the  sky,  and  showing  a  con- 
fusion of  factories  and  pipe  lines,  a  writhing  ugliness  in 
the  darkness  below.  At  other  times,  only  a  thin  white 
streak  of  light  was  visible,  through  which  something 
seemed  peering  wickedly.  Zillner  glanced  round  the 
compartment ;  his  companions  had  fallen  into  a  dose. 
The  Czech  at  least  was  not  troubled  by  dreams  of  war  ; 
his  face,  full  in  the  light  from  the  half-covered  lamp, 
wore  a  satisfied,  half  mischievous  smile.  The  two  young 
subalterns  had  curled  themselves  up  like  hedgehogs, 
each  in  his  corner  ;  their  calm,  regular  breathing  spoke 
of  temporary  transfer  to  happier  regions,  where  there 
are  no  troublesome  superiors,  and  no  disturbing  questions 
of  nationality.  Their  faces,  smooth  and  young — ah,  so 
happily  young — ^were  untroubled  by  dreams  :  they  slept 
as  boys  do,  with  a  clean  and  deep  forgetfulness.  The 
linguist  seemed  less  comfortable  :  he  muttered  in  his 
sleep,  and  his  lips  twitched  from  time  to  time. 

Zillner  went  back  to  his  place.  Poor  Freischaff — 
thinking  no  doubt  of  his  young  wife.  A  stern  thing,  to 
have  to  leave  her  alone.  He  thought  of  Clarisse.  Had 
she  been  in  his  mind  these  last  few  days  ?  No,  he  had 
almost  forgotten  her  in  his  work.  Clarisse  !  There  had 
been  so  much  to  think  of,  and  to  feel,  ^hese  last  few  days. 
He  had  said  good-bye  to  everything  to-day  ;  not  to  one 
woman  alone,  but  to  his  life  as  it  had  been.  There  was 
no  woman  in  whom  that  life  was  concentrated.  Clearly 
he  did  not  love  her.  At  any  rate,  not  as  Freischaff,  for 
instance,  loved  his  wife.  Love — something  sufficient  in 
itself,  obliterating  all  else.  "What,  then,  was  his  feeling 
for  Clarisse  ?  His  dreams  that  night  gave  him  the 
answer.  He  saw  her  in  all  her  naked  loveliness,  her 
deep  rich  eyes  burning  as  they  looked  into  his,  her  moist 
red  lips  with  their  warm  kisses.  .  .  .  Clarisse  was  in  his 
dreams  that  last  night  of  peace.     But  in  the  morning, 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  8d 

the  dreams  were  gone,  and  Zillner  found  himself  wonder- 
ing what  Freischaff  really  felt  like.  Strange — to  be 
constantly  thinking  of  a  woman — hugging  her  picture 
day  and  night,  always  the  same.  It  must  be  a  cruel 
thing  to  love  like  that. 

That  morning  the  train  drew  up  at  the  first  large 
station  in  Poland.  A  living  hedge  of  peasant  folk  sur- 
rounded them,  all  very  dirty,  and  staring  open-mouthed 
at  the  uniformed  men.  On  the  platform  were  Jews  in 
greasy  caftans,  smiling  humbly,  with  something  like  a 
gleam  of  hope  in  their  melancholy  eyes.  But  there 
were  some  whose  glance  was  fierce  with  a  passionate 
hate,  as  if  calling  down  curses  on  the  tyrants  who 
had  hunted  their  brothers  like  dogs,  and  invoking  the 
blessing  of  a  stern  Jehovah  for  these  who  had  come  to 
deliver  them. 

Polish  ladies  served  tea  with  the  inimitable  grace 
peculiar  to  the  women  of  that  nation,  and  a  charm  of 
manner  which  made  one  overlook  such  trifles  as  the  lack 
of  a  button  here  and  there  on  their  silk  blouses,  an 
occasional  tear  in  their  skirts,  or  the  state  of  their  high- 
heeled  shoes. 

Pfustermeyer  was  more  critical.  '  Snaky  lot,'  he 
grumbled,  watching  the  women  as  they  tripped  smilingly 
on  their  errand.  *  Skirts  all  in  rags,  and  silk  stockings 
under  :  every  blessed  one  of  them  the  same.  I  say 
though,  that 's  a  neat  little  thing  ' — he  pointed  to  a 
dainty  brunette — '  Not  half  bad,  really.  Literesting 
country.  Scandalicia.'  And  Pfustermeyer  proceeded 
to  scandalise  his  companions  by  fantastic  stories  of  the 
state  of  culture  among  the  Polish  nobility,  dwelling  with 
particular  relish  on  the  nature  of  their  sanitary  ar- 
rangements, which  were,  it  appeared,  promiscuous  and 
casually  extensive  rather  than  hygienic. 

The  next  halt  of  any  duration  was  at  Krakau.  The 
beautiful  old  city  had  put  on  its  war  paint.  Batteries, 
earth-works,  and  entrenched  positions,  with  the  soil 
but  newly  turned,  appeared  among  the  fir  trees  :    in 


40  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

front  of  the  citadel,  men  were  at  work  upon  a  huge 
system  of  l^arbed  wire  defences.  On  the  sidings  at  the 
station  were  trucks  with  heavy  artillery  waiting  to  be 
unloaded. 

The  train  went  on,  through  mighty  forests  and  over 
sun -scorched  plains,  landscapes  that  seemed  as  if 
crushed  under  a  weight  of  unspeakable  distress,  with 
grey  pools  of  water  here  and  there  like  melancholy  eyes. 
There  were  great  tracts  of  sandy  waste,  where  nothing 
grew  but  patches  of  stubbly  grass,  and  the  Tiefenbachers 
were  disagreeably  surprised  to  note  the  indescribable 
poverty  of  the  country.  Then  low  undulations  with  a 
scanty  growth  of  birch,  and  windmills  reaching  out  arms 
towards  all  horizons.  And  in  the  midst  of  the  desola- 
tion, a  village  here  and  there,  in  a  hollow,  with  tiny 
rivulets  of  brown  marshy  water.  The  low,  shambling 
cottages  clustered  together  about  the  church  as  if  in  fear, 
like  chickens  cowering  under  the  wing  of  a  fat  hen. 
Now  and  again,  a  big  country  house,  or  the  palace  of 
some  great  noble,  broke  the  monotony,  but  that  was  alL 

In  the  grey  dawn  of  the  third  day  the  regiment 
detrained. 


CHAPTER  IV 

'  Advance  without  delay.'  The  order  had  been  flung 
out  from  somewhere  in  the  rear,  driving  the  masses  of 
troops  in  huge  columns  towards  the  Russian  frontier. 
On  every  road  were  long  snaky  lines  of  men,  marching 
in  clouds  of  dust  .  .  .  and  after  them,  like  centipedes, 
toiled  the  clattering  supply  columns.  Ahead,  far  ahead, 
were  the  light  cavalry,  already  in  the  enemy's  country, 
riding  hard  on  the  heels  of  the  Cossacks.  The  Russians 
were  retreating  all  along  the  line.  *  Ride  them  down,' 
was  the  word,  snapped  out  like  the  crack  of  a  whip  over 
the  hurrying  men.  This,  too,  was  an  order  from  some- 
where in  the  rear,  where  a  nervous  restlessness  seemed 
constantly  urging  on  the  advance.  The  plan  of  cam- 
paign devised  by  the  genius  of  the  General  Staff,  as  laid 
down  by  Captain  Zappcrer  that  evening  at  the  Konzert 
Haus,  depended  first  of  all  on  speed  in  its  execution. 
Time  was  everything.  If  they  could  crush  the  enemy 
before  he  had  time  to  bring  up  the  bulk  of  his  forces 
from  the  south,  then  the  road  to  Kiev  would  lie  open 
— for  Ukraine,  as  every  one  knew,  was  already  on 
the  verge  of  revolt.  Therefore  .  .  .  '  Ride  them 
down.' 

Again  and  again  the  whiplash  cracked,  driving  the 
armies  forward  till  they  groaned  under  the  pace.  On  and 
on,  for  days  and  weeks.  Those  at  the  rear,  installed  in 
comfortable  mansions,  sitting  at  their  ease  in  shady 
gardens,  they  had  chosen  the  better  part.  Swift  cars 
were  constantly  coming  and  going,  orderlies  racing  about 
and  transmitting  the  infection  of  haste  to  this  staff  unit 
and  that,  and  thence  it  passed  on,  multiplied  through 
telephone  and  telegraph,  to  the  troops  themselves,  eating 
its  way  into  every  comer  of  the  giant  body,  till  it  burned 


42  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

with  fever.    And  still  the  whip  lashed  out :   '  Advance, 
advance  without  delay.' 

The  Tiefenbachers  were  having  a  hard  time.  The 
heat  of  those  August  days  was  terrible.  The  sun  hung 
like  a  glowing  ball  in  a  sky  of  shimmering  white,  and 
each  day's  march  was  long  ;  thirty-five  or  forty  kilo- 
metres day  after  day.  Feldkirch's  division  was  march- 
ing as  reserve,  with  the  Tiefenbacher  Regiment  second 
in  the  endless  column.  In  front  of  them  were  their 
comrades  of  the  same  brigade,  the  '  Collalto  '  infantry 
from  Lower  Austria.  The  men  tramped  painfully  on 
through  the  fine,  deep  sand,  which  slithered  away  at 
every  step.  The  weight  of  their  equipment  was  a 
fearful  burden  in  the  heat,  and  for  three  days  there  had 
not  been  the  slightest  breeze  to  clear  a  little  of  the  dust 
and  sweat. 

Zillner  rode  at  the  rear  of  his  company,  according  to 
custom.  The  company  officers  had  to  be  constantly 
encouraging,  threatening,  and  driving  on  their  men. 
Numbers  of  them  had  fallen  out  already  along- the  road — 
reservists  called  up  to  complete  the  strength,  mostly 
men  of  poor  physique,  who  dropped  like  flies  by  the 
wayside.  It  was  the  sifting  out  of  the  chaff.  Even  the 
strongest  plodded  wearily  along.  From  the  day  they 
had  left  the  train,  the  men  had  been  marching  all  day, 
for  eight  or  nine  hours  in  succession,  without  a  meal 
until  nine  o'clock  at  night.  They  were  unused  to  sleep- 
ing on  the  ground,  and  the  small  bivouac  tents  were  but 
slight  protection  against  the  bitterly  cold  nights  that 
followed  the  heat  of  the  day.  There  was  always  a  touch 
of  frost  to  be  seen  at  dawn. 

Major  Blagorski  was  furious.  Twenty  times  a  day  he 
rode  past,  swearing  angrily  at  the  ranks  that  could  not 
keep  their  dressing,  or  at  some  poor  devil  who  had  fallen 
out,  and  lay  gasping,  flushed  and  exhausted  by  the  road- 
side. '  No  discipline  ;  I  never  saw  a  marching  regiment 
in  such  a  state.  Three  days  out,  and  thirty-five  men 
gone  already.    The  war  will  be  over  before  we  get  there 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  48 

at  this  rate.  But  I  '11  make  them  use  their  legs,  the 
dogs.  Any  man  not  in  his  place  at  evening  inspection  will 
be  put  on  extra  guard.  We  must  put  a  stop  to  this  sort 
of  thing — put  a  stop  to  it  once  and  for  all.' 

Captain  Hallada  passed  his  fingers  through  his  hair, 
all  caked  with  sweat  and  dust.  '  Put  a  stop  to  it — ;yes, 
yes,  it 's  all  very  well  to  say  put  a  stop  to  it.  But  how 
is  a  man  to  do  anything  w4th  a  set  of  incapable  non-coms. 
And  the  officers  themselves  are  not  much  better.' 

'  Platoon  commanders  this  way.'  The  junior  officers 
hurried  up.  '  Gentlemen,  there  are  thirty-five  men 
missing.  Consider  the  honour  of  the  regiment.  I  look 
to  you,  gentlemen,  to  support  m.e  ;  we  must  put  a  stop 
to  it — once  and  for  all.' 

Poor  Captain  Hallada  might  have  found  comfort  in 
the  thought  that  even  Grill's  model  company  had  to 
admit  thirty  stragglers,  while  Pfustermeyer's  and  Zill- 
ner's  men  showed  a  like  proportion.  What  was  the  use 
of  threatening  them  with  punishment  ?  What  use, 
either  the  orders  against  drinking  from  wayside  puddles, 
or  laughing  in  the  ranks  ?  The  men  filled  their  water 
bottles  in  the  morning,  and  had  emptied  them  before 
half  the  day  was  through  ;  it  was  impossible  to  prevent 
them  from  dashing  out  to  drink  greedily  of  the  muddy 
hquid  ;  the  officers  preferred  to  look  another  way.  The 
Major  himself  w^ould  at  such  tim.es  glance  anxiously  at 
the  Colonel,  wondering  whether  he  too  saw,  or  really 
did  not  see  ? 

It  was  a  hard  time  indeed  for  the  Tiefenbachers,  and 
they  shov/ed  it.  They  dragged  themselves  forward,  in 
silence  for  the  most  part ;  willing  to  do  their  best,  but 
with  no  energy  left  over  for  anything  approaching 
cheerfulness.  Only  one  or  two  of  the  stoutest  fellows 
still  marched  with  uplifted  heads  and  untroubled  eyes, 
chatting  and  singing  as  if  in  the  best  of  spirits.  There 
w^as  Nechleba,  the  maurais  sujet  of  Company  Four, 
whom  Zillner  had  been  warned  against  as  likely  to  give 
trouble.  He  seemed  unaffected  by  hunger  or  thirst ; 
carried  an  extra  rifle  most  of  the  time  to  relieve  some 


44  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

weaker  comrade,  and  had  a  store  of  soldier  songs  which 
he  hummed  or  sang,  making  the  others  join  in.  Strange, 
thought  Zillner  to  himself,  that  a  notoriously  bad  char- 
acter could  be  so  useful  on  the  march. 

In  the  evenings,  when  the  air  was  somewhat  cooler, 
and  the  field  kitchens  came  up  with  an  appetising 
smell  of  food,  the  wearied  men  brightened  up  a  little.  It 
came  as  a  sudden  change  ;  and  it  was  almost  touching 
to  see  how  these  poor  harassed  creatures,  after  being 
driven  forward  all  day  like  beasts  with  threats  and 
curses,  regained  their  bearing  and  courage  as  soon  as 
their  bellies  were  filled.  The  red -faced  peasants  laughed 
in  simple  contentment  as  their  heavy  jaws  fell  to  work, 
and  even  the  narrow-shouldered  city  contingent,  with 
less  stamina  to  bear  up  against  fatigue,  seemed  filled 
with  new  life  and  energy. 

The  evenings  were  wonderful.  The  little  camp  fires 
twinkled  all  around,  the  cricket  chirped,  and  here  and 
there  a  horse  whinnied  in  sleep.  A  whole  town  of  grey 
tents  grew  up,  and  the  moon  came  out,  shedding  its 
soft,  kindly  light  over  the  parched  earth.  At  times  one 
could  hear  some  popular  melody,  or  an  old  folksong, 
from  a  cam.p  near  by.  '  Prinz  Eugen '  was  a  favourite 
song  just  then.  Some  of  the  Tiefenbachers  were  sing- 
ing too  :  a  few  of  them  had  gathered  in  a  little  group 
under  the  stars,  and  were  singing  the  sweetly  plaintive 
Czech  song,  '  Kde  dornow  muj ' — their  '  Home,  sweet 
Home.'  Wonderful  evenings,  despite  Major  Blagorski's 
inspection  of  emergency  rations  !  Heaven  help  the 
poor  sinner  who  could  not  show  his  reserve  of  biscuit 
or  tinned  meat.  Discovery  was  inevitable,  and  punish- 
ment as  sure.  He  was  tied  hand  and  foot,  and  lashed  to 
a  tree,  there  to  stand  for  two  hours,  meditating  upon 
the  grossness  of  his  crime.  There  were  always  a  couple 
of  such  cases  at  every  evening's  camp. 

On  such  nights  Zillner  lay  long  awake.  His  thoughts 
roamed  far  out  in  the  gentle  silence  of  the  landscape,  and 
a  deep,  reverent  love  grew  up  in  him — a  love  such  as  he 
had  never  known  before.     And  this  new  Jove  spoke  to 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  45 

him,  and  said  :  *  See,  there  they  lie,  these  simple  ones  : 
the  common  men,  the  last  and  the  least  of  all ;  souls 
that  do  not  count.  Driven  and  harassed,  there  they 
lie,  and  if  one  of  them  dies,  it  does  not  matter.  There 
are  always  ten  to  take  his  place.  But  these  little  souls 
are  ready  to  give  up  life  for  their  country,  though  many 
that  are  counted  great  would  never  make  that  sacrifice. 
And  they  will  die — many,  many  thousands  of  them  will 
die.  Emperors  and  kings  should  bend  down  in  venera- 
tion before  such  as  these,  for  they  are  the  greatest  and 
most  terrible,  the  most  unconquerable — they  are  the 
People.  And  you  must  love  them,  one  and  all  of  them.' 
And  Zillner  promised. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  18th  of  August,  Feldkirch's 
Division  crossed  the  Russian  frontier  with  a  thundering 
cheer.  It  was  the  Emperor's  birthday,  and  the  weather 
was  loyally  glorious.  There  seemed  to  have  been  a 
thunderstorm  somewhere  near  ;  the  air  was  fresh  and 
cool.  The  troops,  too,  were  fresher  to-day,  with  some 
approach  to  enthusiasm ;  they  marched  with  lifted 
heads,  and  there  was  a  constant  buzz  of  talk  in  the 
ranks.  The  officers  were  smiling,  and  even  Major 
Blagorski  had  only  once  used  his  favourite  epithet, 
'  You  dogs  ! ' 

The  Emperor's  birthday  ! 

And  they  were  now  in  the  enemy's  country — this  in 
itself  was  enough  to  raise  the  spirits  of  the  men,  wearied 
as  they  were  by  the  heat.  And  all  sorts  of  pleasant 
rumours  were  passed  about.  North  of  Krakau,  the 
Imperial  army  had  occupied  a  big  tract  of  hostile  terri- 
tory ;  Warsaw  was  in  a  state  of  revolution  ...  to  the 
south,  the  Serbians  were  in  flight,  under  hot  pursuit.  .  .  . 

These  and  like  reports  flew  as  a  gay  whirlwind  through 
the  ranks,  and  all  were  longing  now  for  their  turn  to 
come.  Even  the  least  warlike  of  them  felt  a  new 
desire  to  take  a  part  in  it  all,  and  an  intense  curiosity  to 
see  what  it  would  be  like.  The  Russians  had  certainly 
been   trying   their   patience   to   the   utmost.    By   all 


46  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

accounts  they  were  falling  back  everywhere  without 
waiting  to  give  battle  ;  only  a  few  small  cavalry  patrols 
exchanged  shots  with  the  scouting  parties  on  ahead. 
And  gradually  these  marching  thousands  began  to  feel 
something  like  a  pleasant  anticipation ;  they  were 
positively  looking  forward  to  the  first  engagement. 
War  and  the  business  of  war — it  was  this  that  had  driven 
them  on  through  those  toilsome  marches,  till  their  legs 
and  shoulders  ached,  and  they  were  longing  now  for  the 
next  act  of  the  play. 

Dinner  that  afternoon  was  a  birthday  feast.  The 
officers  sat  in  the  shade  of  a  straggly  clump  of  shrubs, 
celebrating  the  occasion  as  far  as  circumstances  allowed. 
The  Major  had  contributed  a  couple  ot  bottles  of  Kontus- 
zowka,  and  Pfustermeyer  had  unearthed  four  bottles  of 
Voslauer.  The  one  topic  of  conversation,  of  course, 
was  the  approaching  battle. 

'  Gentlemen,  we  will  not  trouble  about  inspecting  the 
rations  to-day,'  said  the  Major,  stroking  his  bushy 
moustache.  '  Let  us  drink  to  a  speedy  victory,  for  the 
sake  of  the  Emperor,  our  good  old  master.'  The  wearied 
wrinkled  face  of  the  old  soldier  shone  with  an  intense 
affection,  which  almost  made  it  seem  beautiful.  '  Honour 
and  success  to  the  First  Battalion,  gentlemen.' 

The  glasses  rang  loyally  and  boldly  to  the  toast,  and 
loyal  and  bold  were  the  hearts  of  these  men  as  they 
thought  of  their  aged  ruler,  bowed  and  lonely  in  his 
villa  at  Ischl.  And  to  complete  the  general  festivity, 
that  evening  brought  the  first  batch  of  letters  '  on 
active  service.'  Zillner  had  a  card  from  Clarisse,  wish- 
ing him  '  Good  luck.'  It  was  nice  of  her  to  send  it. 
But  the  melancholy  Dr.  Freischaff  was  incomparably 
happier.  He  went  off  with  his  one  little  letter,  and  flung 
himself  down  behind  a  tree,  and  there  he  lay,  reading  it 
over  and  over  again,  with  a  look  of  joyful  relief.  Then 
he  rose,  thrust  the  letter  carefully  into  an  inner  breast- 
pocket, and  went  back  to  the  others. 

'  Aha,  you  've  come  back  to  the  world  again  ? '  said 
Zillner  kindly,  offering  his  hand  to  his  silent  companion. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  47 

'  Thanks,  thanks — yes.  She  's  a  plucky  Httle  woman 
— indeed  she  is.*  There  was  a  gleam  of  moisture  in  the 
student's  eyes. 

'  Then  you  ought  to  feel  all  the  pluckier  for  that.' 

*  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  what  makes  it  more  diffi- 
cult .  .  .  the  fact  is,  I  'm  perfectly  certain  I  shall 
never  see  her  again.  I  can't  explain  it,  but  I  feel  it  is 
so.'  He  stared  at  Zillner  as  if  hoping  that  he  could 
explain. 

'  My  dear  fellow,  that 's  all  nonsense,  you  know.  One 
mustn't  give  way  to  that  sort  of  thing.'  But  he  felt  a 
sudden  shiver  as  he  spoke.  What  if  the  other  were 
right  ?  They  were  one  and  all  of  them  face  to  face  with 
death.  .  .  .  '  Nonsense,  my  dear  doctor,  nonsense.' 

Karl  Albert  Kraft  came  stumbling  through  the  twi- 
light over  sand  and  tufted  grass  towards  the  camp.  He 
carried  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  his  face  was  sunburned, 
and  his  chin  unshaven,  and  he  l9oked  extremely  happy. 

'  I  say,'  he  cried  to  Zillner  as  he  came  up,  '  I  've 
just  heard  a  queer  piece  of  news.' 

'  Out  with  it  then.' 

Kjaft  unfolded  the  morning  edition  of  a  local  paper 
from  Mahren,  and  read :  *  Southern  Front.  The 
General  Staff  reports  as  follows  :  Our  troops,  after  vic- 
toriously driving  the  enemy  from  all  positions,  moved 
back  to  occupy  their  new  lines,  as  "  instructed." — What 
do  you  say  to  that  ?  Sounds  rather  funny,  doesn't  it  ? 
Moved  back  victoriously  to  their  new  lines  ?  ' 

'  Sounds  fishy,'  said  Pfustermeyer.  '  Always  the 
same.  These  bottle-green  conjurers  have  a  way  of 
twisting  things  up  till  you  don't  know  what  is  what. 
And  the  neater  they  put  it,  the  more  you  can  be  sure 
there  's  something  wrong  somewhere.' 

'  Might  be  a  slip  of  the  pen,'  suggested  Grill,  but  his 
face  was  thoughtful. 

'  Slip  of  the  pen,'  Pfustermeyer  laughed  scornfully. 
'  No,  take  my  word  for  it,  they  've  sat  and  sweated  over 
that  little  bit,  half  a  dozen  of  them  putting  their  heads 


48  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

together  to  make  it  look  as  decent  as  possible.  Fishy, 
I  say.  Fishy  at  the  start.  Only  hope  the  fishiness 
isn't  going  to  keep  on,  that 's  all.' 

'  In  any  case,  gentlemen,  it  cannot  be  more  than  a 
slight  temporary  reverse.'  The  Major  looked  reproach- 
fully at  Pfustemieyer.  '  You  're  too  pessimistic  you 
know,  really.' 

It  was  finally  agreed  that  the  victorious  retirement 
should  be  interpreted  as  favourably  as  possible.  Never- 
theless, it  was  impossible  to  deny  that  this  was  the  18th 
of  August,  and  Serbia  had  not  yet  been  laid  at  the  feet 
of  the  Emperor,  as  the  General  Staff  had  prophesied 
would  be  the  case.  And  if  their  plans  for  future  opera- 
tions were  to  be  similarly  discounted.  .  .  .  Well  .  .  . 
Zillner  did  not  care  to  pursue  that  line  of  thought,  but 
resumed  his  cigarette. 

Pfustermeyer  changed  the  subject.  He  had  been 
watching  Kraft  for  some  time  with  undisguised  astonish- 
ment, and  now  he  broke  out :  '  That 's  it,  of  course.  I 
thought  there  was  something  extraordinary  about  him. 
Armed  to  the  teeth  in  this  peaceful  little  camp — are  you 
thinking  of  setting  up  as  a  brigand  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  well,  you  see,  by  all  accounts,  there  are  patrols 
of  Cossacks  about,  and  I  thought  if  we  should  come  across 
them,  it  'd  be  just  as  well  .  .  .' 

'  Cossacks  !  Haha  !  That 's  good,'  shouted  Pfuster- 
meyer.    '  Cossacks  !  .  .  .  ' 

A  little  later  Kraft  rose  and  went  back  to  his  own  lines. 
Zillner  walked  with  him  part  of  the  way. 

'  And  what  do  you  think  of  it  all  ?  '  asked  Zillner. 
'  The  war,  I  mean  ?  '' 

'  Think  ?  Think  's  not  the  word.  It 's  a  thing  to 
feel,  man.  And  I  'm  feeling  it  all  over.  Never  was  so 
excited  in  my  life.  It 's  grand.  And  the  men — our 
fellows  are  simply  wonderful.  It 's  all  we  can  do  to  hold 
them  in.' 

'  Well,  we  shan't  have  to  much  longer,  I  expect. 
Next  time  we  meet  we  ought  to  have  seen  something 
more  of  it.     So  long.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  49 

Zillner  stood  watching  his  friend,  as  he  strode  off,  till 
he  disappeared  in  the  moonlit  mist. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait. 

That  same  night  the  first  shots  were  heard — from  the 
outposts.  A  sotnia  of  Cossacks  had  tried  a  surprise 
attack,  but  were  easily  driven  off.  And  then  next 
morning,  as  the  columns  hurried  forward  in  the  dust  and 
the  heat,  they  heard,  far  off  to  the  north,  a  dull  grum- 
bling as  of  distant  thunder,  which  did  not  cease,  but  con- 
tinued all  that  day  and  into  the  night.  And  soon  all 
were  aware  that  a  battle  was  in  progress  to  the  north- 
ward ;  their  jellows  on  the  left  were  in  action.  But 
the  march  went  on  through  the  pitiless  heat.  The  men 
were  gradually  getting  into  condition,  and  there  were 
fewer  stragglers  now.  The  worst  of  them  had  fallen 
out  at  the  first  start.  But  there  was  new  trouble  ahef.d. 
A  grey  spectre  lay  in  wait  by  streams  and  ponds,  breath- 
ing out  evilly  at  those  who  drank.  It  followed  stealthily 
along  their  route,  snatching  a  victim  here  and  there, 
and  torturing  him.  It  was  the  dreaded  plague, 
dysentery. 

Then  one  night  the  division  was  roused  on  a  sudden, 
no  one  knew  why,  and  turned  out  for  a  march  of  thirty 
kilometres.  The  men  were  simply  worn  out,  and  stag- 
gered drunkenly.  At  daybreak,  there  was  a  halt  for 
two  hours,  then  on  again  all  day  without  a  break.  But 
a  little  after  sundown,  when  officers  and  men  lay  in  a 
leaden  sleep  on  the  sand,  utterly  exhausted  by  madden- 
ing exertion,  they  were  roused  again,  and  marched  out 
once  more  into  the  night.  *  Tactical  considerations,'  it 
was  understood,  'rendered  a  change  of  position  desirable.' 

Major  Blagorski  no  longer  insisted  on  kit  inspections. 
Wearied  out,  he  rede  on  grimly,  and  grimly  the  column 
trailed  forward,  night  and  day. 

Pfustermeyer  was  furious.  '  Those  clever  beggars  at 
the  rear  seem  to  fancy  they  're  playing  at  Kriegsspiel 
with  little  tin  blocks.  They  '11  find  out  their  mistake 
before  long,  I  fancy.' 

D 


50  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Early  one  morning  a  big  yellow  bird,  with  a  red  and 
white  pennant  for  a  tail,  flew  high  above  the  column.  It 
kept  far  up  in  the  blue  sky,  muttering  faintly,  and 
finally  disappeared  in  the  dazzling  sunblaze  to  the  east- 
ward. Not  long  after,  another  came  sailing  down  from 
the  same  quarter ;  it  had  black  rings  on  the  underside 
of  the  wings,  with  a  big  spot  in  the  centre  of  each. 

There  was  a  whispering  in  the  ranks  :  '  A  Russian 
aeroplane.  A  Russian  aeroplane.'  All  eyes  were  turned 
skywards,  but  the  thing  was  far  out  of  range.  Then 
about  noon,  the  sound  of  guns  was  heard  somewhere 
ahead,  from  the  direction  in  which  they  were  marching. 
The  Brigadier,  a  spectacled  engineer,  who  had  hitherto 
been  suffered  to  blush  unseen,  came  up  with  his  aide-de- 
camp, and  endeavoured  to  get  on  ahead  of  the  regiment. 
The  division  commander,  in  his  car,  did  likewise.  The 
regiment  halted,  and  took  up  a  position  in  readiness 
behind  a  slight  rise  in  the  ground. 

'  Battalion  and  company  commanders,  if  you  please.' 
Colonel  Breil  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  :  his 
firm,  soldierly  features  well  composed,  save  for  a  slight 
twitch  of  the  lips.  '  The  troops  ahead  of  us  are  engaged 
with  the  enemy ;  our  corps  is  to  attack.  The  regiment 
is  in  reserve  for  the  present.  You  had  better  prepare 
the  men  for  what  is  coming,  if  you  please.  The  regi- 
ment will  keep  up  its  reputation.  I  have  no  doubt  of 
that.     Thank  you,  gentlemen.' 

Zillner  looked  at  his  men.  There  they  lay,  stretched 
out  in  the  hot  sand,  and  glad  of  a  little  rest.  They  were 
tired,  he  could  see  ;  there  was  more  of  resigned  dogged - 
ness  in  their  faces  than  of  keen  expectation.  They  had 
known  all  along  that  this  must  come.  They  would  do 
their  duty,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that ;  no  fear  of  their 
bringing  disgrace  upon  the  regiment.  But  for  the 
moment  they  would  like  to  rest,  to  stretch  their  wearied 
limbs  at  ease  ;  that  was  all  they  cared  about  just  now. 

In  few  words,  Zillner  told  them  what  was  coming. 
'  We  are  going  into  action,  men.  Show  yourselves 
plucky  as  you  have  up  to  now,  and  we  shall  do,' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  51 

There  was  no  loud  demonstration  from  the  men,  but 
m  two  hundred  and  fifty  pairs  of  eyes  he  read  a  deter- 
mination to  meet  the  inevitable  with  courage.  Some  of 
them — not  many — showed  more  than  the  mere  resolve 
not  to  play  the  coward  :  they  were,  he  could  see,  full  of 
an  intense  curiosity  and  desire  for  battle.  He  noted  the 
few  who  took  it  thus.  Among  them  was  that  same 
Nechleba,  the  black  sheep  of  the  company,  with  a  wild 
gleam  now  in  his  eyes.  And  then  the  little  cadet, 
Andrei ;  he  was  keenness  itself.  *  Is  it  true,  sir  ?  To- 
day, now,  at  once  ?  ' 

Zillner  nodded,  smiling  at  his  enthusiasm. 

*  What  a  piece  of  luck.     It  seems  too  good  to  be  true.' 

And  the  boy  turned  away,  with  the  little  furrow 
deepening  between  his  close-drawn  eyebrows,  and  gazed 
like  a  young  eagle  out  towards  the  horizon,  where  the 
roar  of  the  guns  was  growing  louder  every  minute. 

Freischaff  was  sitting  on  the  ground  in  front  of 
his  detachment,  his  face  a  trifle  pale  ;  the  Czech  was 
staring  darkly  before  him ;  von  Prager  was  smok- 
ing a  cigarette  with  an  indolent,  careless  air  of  being 
thoroughly  at  home. 

The  air  was  shimm.ering  in  the  heat ;  down  in  the 
hollow,  it  hung  heavy  and  motionless,  thick  with  the 
murmur  of  the  ever  troublesome  flies.  The  heat 
seemed  floating  in  visible  clouds  over  the  low  range  of 
hills  that  shut  in  the  landscape  to  the  north. 

In  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun  the  regiment  advanced, 
moving  in  companies  and  battalions  forward  towards 
the  hills.  Suddenly  there  was  a  faint  rushing  sound  in 
the  air,  growmg  louder  and  louder,  rising  to  a  shrill 
whine  above  their  heads,  and  then  a  dull  report  far  off. 
A  whirling  column  of  dust  rose  up  like  a  flame  from  the 
earth. 

It  was  the  first  shell. 

The  men  laughed.  '  Try  again — better  luck  next 
time.'  But  a  moment  after  another  shell  burst  fifty 
paces  in  front  of  the  second  company,  spattering  Grill, 
the  immaculate,   with  earth   and  yellow  dust.      The 


62  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

companies  went  forward  a  hundred  paces  at  the 
double. 

A  whirl  of  flying  feet,  and  they  flung  themselves  down 
once  more,  while  the  iron  missiles  sang  in  the  air  above. 
Now  and  again  one  struck  the  ground  heavily,  boring  its 
way  furiously  into  the  earth,  but  doing  no  damage  be- 
yond scattering  grass  and  sand.  None  of  them  as  yet 
had  reached  the  goal  they  sought — the  warm,  living 
bodies  of  men. 

All  weariness  was  forgotten  now  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment.  There  was  a  play  toward,  and  the  spec- 
tators felt  the  thrill  of  something  about  to  happen ; 
something  y/hich  as  yet  they  did  not  understand.  The 
men  laughed  when  the  shells  fell  wide,  and  jeered  at  the 
bad  aim  of  the  gunners.  '  Try  again,'  they  cried,  '  Try 
again,'  as  the  dust  clouds  sprang  up  like  giants  in  the 
empty  air,  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  in  front  or  behind. 
Forward.  And  now  they  could  hear  a  sound  as  of  a 
riveting  machine,  but  faint  as  yet.  In  the  distance — 
rifle  fire.  And  all  at  once  the  sky  in  front  of  them  was 
speckled  with  tiny  white  clouds.  They  faded  away  next 
moment  into  the  blue,  but  more  appeared,  and  more  ; 
they  hung  over  the  front  of  the  company,  and  burst 
with  a  slight  report.     Shrapnel. 

The  stretcher-bearers  were  carrying  the  first  batch  of 
wounded  to  the  rear.  And  there  in  the  sand  lay  a 
corporal  of  Zillner's  company,  struck  by  the  tube  of  a 
shrapnel  shell  in  the  head.  '  Urgh — ^urgh — urgh  ! '  he 
gurgled,  and  pointed  helplessly  to  a  glittering  fragment 
of  brass  tubing  that  stuck  out,  framed  in  a  reddening 
circle,  from  his  right  temple.  A  moment  later  he  was 
still — the  first  to  die. 

'  God  rest  his  soul,'  murmured  Zillner  to  himself. 

The  Tiefenbachers  worked  their  way  breathlessly 
forward  to  the  cover  of  a  small  gully.  The  little  white 
clouds  followed  them,  scattering  out,  as  from  a  cornu- 
copia, the  leaden  bullets  and  ragged  fragments  of 
shell  that  here  and  there  brought  death.  The  enemy's 
artillery  was  feeling  its  way  about  the  field,  but  the 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  58 

regiment  was  well  under  cover  now,  and  there  were  no 
more  casualties  for  the  present.  From  the  rear,  they 
could  hear  the  roar  of  their  own  guns,  that  had  come  into 
action  in  support,  the  batteries  being  drawn  up  close 
behind  the  infantry  position.  And  the  Tiefenbachers 
could  hear  the  jubilant  song  of  their  own  shrapnel  flung 
out  against  the  enemy.  The  little  white  clouds  in  front 
grew  fewer.  Then,  at  five  in  the  evening,  the  regiment 
moved  forward  to  the  attack.  Two  battalions  extended, 
forming  a  thin  grey  line  ;  the  third,  with  the  colours, 
was  held  in  reserve.  There  was  still  no  enemy  to  be 
seen.  A  little  wood  directly  in  front  obscured  the  view, 
but  the  whine  and  scream  overhead  had  risen  to  a  higher 
note,  that  told  of  the  shorter  range.  There  was  more 
rifle  firing  now.  The  bullets  sang  in  a  shrill  treble,  with 
here  and  there  the  duller  hum  of  those  nearly  spent, 
A  line  of  men  lay  in  position  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  but 
they  did  not  seem  to  be  firing. 

*  Hang  it  all,'  thought  Zillner,  '  why  don't  they  ad- 
vance with  the  rest  ?  '  He  put  his  whistle  to  his  lips, 
and  gave  a  signal,  and  was  about  to  follow  it  up  with  a 
shout  to  the  line  to  advance,  when  he  caught  sight  of 
the  subaltern  in  command.  He  was  lying  huddled  up 
behind  a  tree,  with  the  glass  held  stiffly  in  his  right  hand, 
staring  apparently  at  something  ahead.  But  some- 
thing— ^yes,  a  little  black  insect — was  crawling  undis- 
turbed over  his  face.  And  all  those  others,  lying  in 
position,  as  if  waiting  the  word  to  fire,  with  their  cheeks 
pressed  against  the  butts  of  their  rifles,  or  w^ith  faces 
hidden  in  the  grass — they  were  dead  men. 

Zillner  felt  a  cold  grip  at  his  neck,  and  shivered.  But 
only  for  a  moment.  Then  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  to 
his  own  men,  he  cried  out :  '  Number  Four  Company — 
Forward.'  With  a  sidelong  glance  at  their  silent  com- 
rades, they  dashed  out  into  the  open.  Volleys  rang  out, 
and  the  bullets  sang  over  their  heads,  but  fell  harmlessly 
behind  them,  where  the  dead  men  lay.  And  machine- 
guns  were  searching  the  ground  on  either  flank.  'Down  ! ' 
They  could  see  the  enemy  now — there  on  the  next  ridge. 


54  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

where  the  earth  had  been  thrown  up  to  form  some  sort 
of  cover.  Then — ^what  was  that  ?  A  wild  cheer  from 
the  left,  and  bugles  sounding  the  charge.  The  Collaltos 
were  rushing  the  position  with  the  bayonet.  Zillner 
lifted  his  glass.  Like  a  grey  sea,  with  the  flashing  foam 
of  the  bayonets  in  front,  the  Collaltos  dashed  up  the 
slope,  flooded  it,  and  swept  like  a  breaking  wave  over 
the  ridge.  Shouts  and  flashes  of  fire  in  the  confusion, 
and  then  a  silence.  And  a  moment  later  a  joyful  rattle 
of  musketry  as  the  enemy  fled  in  panic.  Tears  rose  to 
the  eyes  of  the  young  captain  as  he  watched.  What 
would  he  not  have  given  to  be  there.  Heroes  .  .  . 
heroes.  .  .  . 

A  shrill  whistle  sounded,  and  he  started  up.  '  Tiefen- 
bachers  forward  ! '  The  company  dashed  up  furiously  at 
his  heels.  Again  a  couple  of  volleys  still  over  their  heads, 
and  then  the  machine-guns  lopped  off  a  dozen  men  from 
his  left  flank.  There  was  no  stopping  now.  The  line 
of  trenches  ahead  grew  broader  and  clearer,  and  seemed 
to  be  hurrying  up  to  meet  them.  With  bloodshot  eyes, 
and  faces  flushed  and  dripping  with  sweat,  the  Tiefen- 
bachers  flung  themselves  madly  upon  the  enemy.  But 
on  reaching  the  line  the  gasping  men  found  only  corpses, 
and  a  couple  of  trembling  moujiks  holding  up  empty 
hands.  The  enemy  was  in  full  flight,  scattered  in 
ragged  groups  over  the  ground.  A  hail  of  bullets  after 
them,  and  then  the  men  flung  themselves  down  in  the 
empty  trenches  to  get  their  breath.  Their  hearts  were 
thumping  violently,  their  lungs  gasping.     Victory ! 

Batches  of  prisoners  were  led  past  under  escort,  star- 
ing idly  before  them.  The  Brigadier  came  trotting  up 
from  the  rear,  blinking  through  his  spectacles,  and 
croaking  out  hoarsely  :  '  Finely  done,  Tiefenbachers, 
very  finely  done.     We  're  winning  all  along  the  line.' 

Pfustermeyer's  brick-red  countenance  shone  with 
delight.  '  Neat  piece  of  work.  Doing  the  thing  in 
style.  But  the  Collaltos  had  the  best  of  it.  A  first-rate 
lot.' 

The   Major,    too,    ventured   mildly   to   be   pleased. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  55 

'  Gentlemen,  I  assure  you,  very  gratifying — ^very  grati- 
fying indeed.  I  think  I  may — yes — remit  all  punish- 
ments outstanding.  That  is  to  say,  as  far  as  the  bat- 
talion is  concerned.  But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't 
interfere  with  any  regimental  cases — the  battalion  only, 
you  understand.' 

But  there  was  a  drop  of  bitterness  in  the  cup  of 
victory.  Colonel  Breil  had  fallen.  The  adjutant  had 
just  come  up  with  the  news.  Fallen  just  as  his  men  were 
dashing  on  to  their  victorious  charge.  It  was  behind 
the  little  wood  where  the  dead  marksmen  lay  ;  he  had 
been  hit  by  a  stray  bullet  in  the  throat,  and  had  died  in 
a  few  seconds. 

Who  was  to  succeed  him  in  the  command  ?  The 
officers  were  genuinely  grieved  at  his  loss,  but  there  was 
a  touch  of  self-interest  in  their  minds.  They  would 
hardly  get  a  better  colonel  in  his  place. 

The  men,  dirty,  dusty  and  worn,  whispered  eagerly 
together  in  the  ranks,  comparing  notes,  and  exchanging 
views.  It  had  been  a  great  day,  and  there  was  much  to 
talk  of.     Victory  I  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  V 

At  two  in  the  morninsr,  when  the  men  were  sleeping 
the  deep  sleep  of  exhaustioi^,  Fejdkirch's  division  was 
aroused  once  nnore.  The  Adjutant  had  just  come  back 
from  division  headquarters  with  the  General's  orders  to 
follow  up  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy  without  delay.  '  It 
is  an  independent  action  on  the  part  of  the  division,' 
he  whispered.  '  No  instructions  from  the  Corps  Com- 
mander, you  understand,  but  a  stroke  of  genius  on  the 
part  of  the  General  himself.  If  successful,  it  will  reflect 
great  credit  on  the  division,  and  on  all  concerned.' 
Captain  Wiirkner  had  a  way  of  communicating  any 
particularly  interesting  piece  of  intelligence  in  the 
official  phrasing  of  regimental  orders. 

'  Of  course,'  grumbled  Pfustermeyer.  '  We  know 
what  that  means.  His  superlative  Excellency's  got 
his  eye  on  the  next  bit  of  ribbon — Order  of  Maria 
Theresa  's  what  he  wants.  Well,  let  him  get  it,  it 's 
all  the  same  to  me.' 

The  men  staggered  up  drunkenly,  and  stood  by  their 
piled  arms.  What  a  blessed  thing  it  would  be  to  get 
a  full  night's  rest  for  once — only  once.  There  was  a 
shuffle  and  rattle  as  they  hoisted  the  knapsacks  on  to 
their  tired  shoulders,  and  the  grey  snaky  line  marched 
off  into  the  night.  The  stars  were  twinkling  on  high  ; 
the  moon  hung  like  a  delicate  silver  sickle  low  down  in 
the  heavens. 

Zillner  rode  at  the  rear  of  his  company  in  a  dreamy 
content,  his  eyes  resting  affectionately  on  the  long  lines 
of  bowed  and  burdened  men  as  they  plodded  on,  grey 
shadowy  figures  in  the  darkness.  His  heart  went  out 
to  the  poor  wearied  souls  ;  he  felt  as  if  he  must  whisper 
a  word  of  thanks  to  each.    Poor  brave  fellows  I    He  felt 

66 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  57 

an  intensity  of  gratitude  to  them  one  and  all.  His 
company  I  There,  flowing  on  ahead  in  a  grey  ribbon  of 
steel,  set  with  red  hearts  .  .  .  red  flames.  .  .  . 

Victory  !  How  favoured  he  had  been.  A  victory  at 
the  outset,  and  only  twelve  men  down — only  two  dead. 
They  were  gone  never  to  return,  the  two  who  had  given 
their  lives  in  the  grand  devotion  of  that  splendid  '  For- 
ward I  *  But  the  others,  who  lay  now  carefully  bandaged 
at  the  collecting  station  in  the  rear,  those  he  might  see 
again.  "When  ?  Perhaps  they  might  be  in  time  to 
take  part  in  the  rejoicing  at  the  final  victorj'^ ;  the  Gloria 
in  excclsis  for  the  last  great  fight  that  should  bring  them 
peace.  If  they  could  but  go  on  as  they  had  begun,  it 
would  not  be  long  before  the  Double  Eagle  could  feather 
its  nest  with  the  plumes  of  the  giant  Russian  vulture. 
He  smiled  at  the  thought.  Fortune  had  been  kind 
indeed.  He  patted  the  mane  of  his  chestnut :  '  Bravo, 
Plutus  1     At  them  again  I ' 

Suddenly,  he  heard  a  voice  at  his  left  hand — it  was 
the  fair  young  doctor,  Freischaff. 

'  Captain,  might  I  trouble  you,  I  wonder,  to  do  me  a 
service  ?  '  The  voice  came  thickly,  as  from  a  distance, 
through  a  thick  veil,  breaking  hesitatingly  upon  his 
meditations. 

'  Certainly,  certainly — if  I  can,  that  is,  of  course.' 

'  It 's  just  a  little  matter.  If  you  would  not  mind 
.  .  .  this  letter  ...  in  case  .  .  .  '  A  trembling  hand 
held  out  an  envelope  towards  liim. 

'  More  presentiments,  doctor.  Really,  you  know%  you 
mustn't  give  way  like  this.     What  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

'  Only  that  I  know  I  shall  not  live  through  the  day. 
That  is  all.' 

Zillner  took  the  letter.  '  Incurable  pessimist.  I  '11 
give  it  you  back  this  evening.' 

The  other  shook  his  head  sadly.  '  I  know  better,'  he 
said  softly,  and  walked  on  with  bowed  head. 

'  Just  a  moment.  How  can  a  man  of  science  ever 
bring  himself  to  believe  in  such  old  wives'  tales  ?  ' 

Freischaff  gave  a  little  dismal  laugh.     '  It  sounds 


58  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

ridiculous  I  know,'  he  said.  And  then  almost  in  a 
scream,  the  words  broke  from  him  :  '  But  I  feel  it — I 
feel  it.  .  .  .  And  the  letter  is  only  to  say  that  I  shall 
think  of  her — only  of  her — in  what  comes  after.' 

*  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  overstrained.  This  has  been 
too  much  for  you.  This  evening,  wait  and  see— we  shall 
be  laughing  at  this  together.' 

•  •••••• 

A  faint  strip  of  red-gold  light  showed  above  the 
eastern  horizon.  A  cold  dawn  wind  swept  over  the  plain, 
and  here  and  there  a  bird  chirped  sleepily  at  the  coming 
day.  Far  ahead  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  lit  up  the  gilded 
cross  on  the  dome  of  a  distant  church. 

In  the  golden  light  of  the  early  morning  the  Tiefen- 
bachers  came  marching  through  a  little  village,  where 
Ruthenian  peasants  stood  in  their  doorways,  making 
gestures  of  humble  greeting  as  the  troops  passed.  Out- 
side the  church  stood  the  priest,  a  fat  man,  with  a  heavy 
black  beard,  his  face  all  smiles  and  friendliness.  The 
•church  bells  were  ringing,  sending  out  dull,  heavy  waves 
of  sound  upon  the  morning  air. 

'  That 's  funny,'  muttered  Andrei  in  a  half -whisper  to 
Spicka,  who  was  marching  at  his  side.  '  Wonder  what 
they  're  ringing  for  ?  Very  funny,  if  you  ask  me.  It 's 
not  a  Sunday,  and  they  'd  hardly  be  ringing  the  church 
bells  here  to  celebrate  a  victory  of  ours.  What  do  you 
think  it  means  ?  ' 

'  How  should  I  know  ?  '  answered  the  Czech  sulkily. 
'  I  wish  they  'd  call  a  halt.     I  'm  getting  sick  of  this.' 

'  H'm.     Funeral  perhaps.' 

Beyond  the  village  the  country  spread  out  more  or 
less  flat,  rising  a  little  on  ahead.  Dry  grass,  sand  and 
fields  of  thin  stubble,  with  here  and  there  a  little  copse — 
exactly  as  the  country  they  had  been  passing  through 
for  days.  As  the  tail  of  the  company  came  out  into  the 
open — the  first  battalion  was  bringing  up  the  rear,  and 
Zillner's  company  was  last-^a  windmill  on  the  horizon, 
whose  sails  had  been  whirling  merrily  up  to  now,  stopped 


CAPTAIN  ZILI.NER  50 

suddenly.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  there  came  the 
scream  of  shells,  and  columns  of  dust  were  flung  up  in 
front.  One  rose  from  the  midst  of  the  third  battalion — 
and  in  it  were  seen  arms  and  legs,  and  a  couple  of  heads, 
whirling  up  in  a  ghastly  dance.  From  the  eastern  side 
of  the  village  came  the  sound  of  firing.     Treachery  ! 

Hurriedly  the  men  were  got  into  open  order.  Zillner 
shouted  through  the  confusion  to  Andrei :  '  Take  your 
platoon  and  search  the  place  thoroughly.  Show  no 
quarter  to  any  bearing  arms,  and  if  that  priest  is  still 
alive,  bring  him  to  me.' 

*  Jawohl,  Herr  Hauptmann  ! '  The  boy  drew  himself 
up  smartly,  revolver  in  hand  and  breathless  with  ex- 
citement, the  deep  furrow  between  his  eyebrows  deeper 
than  ever.  '  This  way,  men — follow  me.'  His  young 
voice  rang  out  brightly  as  he  hurried  off  with  his  men 
towards  the  houses.  The  firing  from  that  quarter  had 
already  ceased. 

Treachery !  This  was  something  new.  Were  there 
no  scouting  patrols  out  ?  What  was  the  cavalry  doing  ? 
thought  Zillner,  as  the  reserve  battalion  moved  forward 
in  rear  of  the  regiment  dashing  towards  the  rise  in  front. 
There  was  a  hail  of  shrapnel  falling,  and  with  much 
better  aim  than  the  day  before.  Already  the  ground 
was  littered  with  suffering  horrors.  Could  this  be  their 
beaten  foe  of  yesterday  ?  He  thought  of  the  Adjutant 
and  his  confidential  communication  :  '  Stroke  of  genius 
.  .  .  independent  action  .  .  .  follow  up  the  pursuit 
.  .  .  great  credit  .  .  .  '  Yes,  of  course.  There  had 
been  no  time  to  send  out  scouts  in  advance  ;  even  had 
they  been  sent,  there  would  not  have  been  time  to  warn 
the  troops  behind.  They  were  following  up  the  pursuit 
of  a  beaten  enemy,  to  make  the  victory  complete  and 
crushing.  But  this  was  no  beaten  enemy  before  them 
now,  with  his  artillery  dotting  the  sky  all  over  with 
bursting  clouds.  Anyhow,  thought  Zillner  philosophi- 
cally, if  the  enemy  wasn't  beaten  yet,  then  they  would 
beat  him  now. 

The  regiment  had  just  crested  the  rise  when  orders 


60  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

arrived  from  the  Brigadier  to  advance  no  farther,  but 
entrench  and  hold  the  position  there.  The  spades  were 
soon  busily  at  work.  The  men  lay  flat  on  the  ground,  and 
dug  furiously  with  their  short-handled  tools,  while  the 
shells  screamed  overhead,  and  bullets  showered  down 
on  them  from  the  bursting  clouds  of  the  shrapnel. 
First  shallow  pits,  then  deeper  hollows  in  the  earth. 
The  soil  was  loose,  and  easy  to  work  in,  and  soon  the 
firing  line  was  well  under  cover.  It  was  time  ;  for  the 
enemy  was  sending  volley  after  volley  over  their  heads — 
too  high  now,  and  doing  no  damage.  They  could  see 
the  enemy  now,  some  five  hundred  paces  distant,  a  line 
of  trenches  just  distinguishable  through  the  glass.  But 
the  guns  were  flinging  their  raucous  iron  missiles  from 
some  invisible  position  far  beyond.  Still  the  columns  of 
dust  sprang  up,  often  quite  close  to  the  trenches.  And 
then  a  shriek  of  pain,  a  cry  of  invocation  .  .  .  and  when 
the  grey  smoke  cleared  away,  the  stretcher-bearers  could 
be  seen,  carrying  back  some  shivering  bundle  soaked  in 
blood.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  to  watch.  Where  was 
our  own  artillery  ?  The  same  thought  was  in  the  minds 
of  all.  At  last — after  two  hours  of  helplessness  under 
the  murderous  fire,  the  welcome  roar  of  the  guns  was 
heard  from  the  rear.  The  poor  wretches  huddled  up 
under  cover  began  to  breathe  more  freely.  It  was  all 
right  now.  The  first  few  shots  struck  the  windmills 
ahead,  scattering  them  in  a  whirl  of  burning  fragments 
— no  more  of  their  cursed  signalling  from  there  1 

Zillner's  company  lay  in  reserve  behind  a  patch  of 
gorse  on  a  steep  slope,  giving  very  good  cover,  which  they 
had  further  improved  by  spade  work.  The  men  sat  in 
hollows  dug  out  in  the  slope,  and  were  thus  more  or  less 
protected  against  the  oblique  fire  from  above.  Zillner 
looked  round.  What  was  Andrei  doing  all  this  time  ? 
Then  he  saw  that  the  village  where  the  church  bells  had 
rung  so  solemnly  was  now  in  flames.  Ears  and  sheaves 
of  fire,  pale  in  the  sunlight,  were  thrust  out  from  the 
houses,  and  a  wave  of  grey  silky  smoke  rolled  across  the 
yoofs  towards  the  church.    Then  another  grey  wave 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  61 

below,  coming  nearer  in  an  irregular  line,  pausing  a 
moment  and  coming  on  again,  and  then  dashing  across 
to  the  foot  of  the  slope — it  was  Andrei  with  his  men. 

The  boy  threw  himself  down  by  the  side  of  the 
Captain. 

'' Herr  Hauptmann!  Beg  to  report — carried  out 
instructions.' 

*  Good.     And  perhaps  a  little  more  ?  '  ''- 

'  H'm.  Scoundrels  were  armed  with  Russian  rifles. 
Priest  had  a  whole  arsenal  of  them.' 

*  And  where  is  he  now  ?  ' 

'  Dead.  Tried  to  shoot — beast.  And  as  there  wasn't 
time  for  a  formal  execution  among  the  rest,  I  just  set 
the  houses  on  fire  and  settled  them  that  way.' 

'  Excellent  1  Bravo  I '  said  Zillner,  patting  his  young 
subordinate  on  the  back.  The  boy  was  a  born  soldier. 
*  Get  down  under  cover  now  ;  there  's  no  sense  in  expos- 
ing yourself  here.'  He  would  have  been  more  than 
sorry  to  lose  this  bright  little  cadet ;  the  very  thought 
gave  him  a  twinge  of  pain.  But  surely  there  must  be 
some  guardian  angel  for  men  like  him. 

'  Oh,  nothing  '11  happen  to  me,  sir.  Mother  prays  for 
me,  you  know.' 

His  mother  prayed  for  him.  The  boy  might  well  be 
calm  and  confident.  Zillner's  thoughts  turned  to  a 
little  rose-bordered  grave  in  the  cemetery  at  Graz ;  if 
he  could  only  kneel  there  once  more  and  kiss  the  stone. 
.  .  .  Happy  boy,  with  a  mother  to  pray  for  him.  .  .  . 

The  shriek  and  whine  of  the  shells,  and  the  crackle  of 
musketry,  had  grown  more  violent.  An  orderly,  a 
long-legged  corporal  of  Zillner's  regiment,  came  rushing 
up.  *  Battalion  order,  sir.  The  enemy  is  bringing  up 
reserves,  preparing  to  attack.  The  position  here  is  to 
be  held  at  all  costs.' 

Zillner's  head  was  in  a  whirl.  The  enemy  bringing  up 
reserves  and  preparing  to  attack  .  .  .  ?  But  they  were 
in  pursuit  of  a  beaten  enemy  ;  it  was  their  place  to 
attack.  What  could  it  all  mean  ?  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  stared  through  his  glass,  while  invisible  missiles  were 


62  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

buzzing  all  around  him.  There  was  no  mistake — there 
they  were,  coming  up  from  the  right,  three  lines — ^four — 
hurrying  up  at  close  intervals.  And  from  the  ridge 
beyond,  on  the  skyline,  were  still  more  of  them  moving 
forward. 

The  Austrian  machine-guns  were  furiously  at  work, 
and  from  the  right,  where  the  Collaltos  were  posted, 
came  a  brisk  rifle  fire.  On  the  left,  where  the  line  curved 
round  gradually  towards  the  west,  another  regiment,  the 
Buttlers,  had  dug  themselves  in.  The  105th  and  the 
Landwehr  were  still  in  reserve. 

The  Russians  would  meet  with  a  hot  reception  anyway. 
But  how  came  a  beaten  enemy  to  attack  in  that  manner 
at  all  ?  Zillner  could  not  get  rid  of  the  thought  that 
troubled  him.  Hssss  ! — and  his  caj)  shifted  over  to  one 
side,  as  if  some  hand  had  tried  to  snatch  it  off.  The  hint 
was  unmistakable  ;  he  threw  himself  down  under  cover. 
The  bullet  had  torn  through  just  under  the  badge,  be- 
tween it  and  the  peak. 

The  men  lay  in  silence,  each  struggling  by  himself 
with  the  fear  of  death.  And  some  crushed  their  terror 
between  clenched  teeth,  or  throttled  it  in  a  convulsive 
grip  of  their  fists.  Others  there  were  who  prayed,  and 
their  trouble  was  taken  from  them.  One  or  two  drove 
the  spectre  back  by  trusting  to  their  luck — these  were 
they  who  aspired  to  win  renown.  But  there  were  many 
who  gave  way  shuddering,  and  the  terror  caught  at 
their  hearts,  a  stifling  thing  .  .  .  they  huddled  them- 
selves up  closer  and  closer  under  cover,  and  already  death 
was  in  their  eyes. 

'  Some  one  coming  this  way,  sir.  Mounted  orderly, 
it  looks  like.'  A  keen-eyed  corporal  had  sighted  a  man 
galloping  up  from  the  burning  village,  and  making 
straight  for  where  they  were.  '  He  '11  never  get  through. 
It 's  madness  to  try  it.' 

The  horseman  kept  on  his  way,  dropping  now  to  an 
easy  canter,  to  all  appearances  as  undisturbed  as  on 
manoeuvres.  The  horse,  a  splendid  Irish  bay,  pulled  up 
close  to  where  Zillner  lay,  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  von 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER   .  68 

Rutzinger,  Chief  of  Staff  of  Feldkirch*s  Division,  sprang 
from  the  saddle. 

*  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  get  under  cover.'  Zillner 
pointed  with  an  entreating  gesture  to  the  ground. 
*  We  're  in  the  thick  of  the  firing  here.' 

'  Thanks,  it  doesn't  matter  now.'  The  Chief  of  Staff 
dropped  the  reins  on  the  neck  of  his  mount,  and  the 
animal  stood  with  heaving  flanks,  sniffing  at  a  tuft  of 
grass.  The  Colonel  stepped  close  up  to  Zillner,  and 
whispered  m  his  ear : 

'  Do  me  the  favour  to  shoot  me  at  once,  if  you 
please.' 

'  Sir ! '  .  .  .  Zillner,  still  prone,  swung  round,  raising 
himself  slightly  from  the  ground  with  one  hand,  and 
stared  into  the  other's  face. 

It  w^as  the  face  of  a  dead  man,  save  for  the  eyes,  with 
their  dark,  conmianding  glance,  and  the  twitch  of  a 
tiny  furrow  on  either  side  of  the  mouth. 

'  Pardon,  sir,  but  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  ?  ' 

'  You  must  know  why  I  ask.  It 's  an  unusual  thing, 
perhaps,  but.  .  .'  He  hesitated  a  little,  and  stood  sway- 
ing a  little  from  the  hips,  a  tall  elegant  figure.  *  But  I 
ask  it  as  a  favour.  And,  as  a  good  comrade,  you  can- 
not refuse.  Surely,  when  I  beg  you.  .  .  .'  His  voice 
dropped  to  a  tremulous  whisper  of  entreaty. 

*  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  get  down  under  cover,'  re- 
peated Zillner,  utterly  at  a  loss.  '  You  will  be  shot  if 
you  don't.' 

The  sand  all  round  them  was  lashed  by  the  bullets 
from  the  machine-guns.  '  It 's  no  good.  I  've  tried. 
All  the  way  out  here — not  a  scratch.  Come,  Lieutenant, 
as  a  friend  ...  it  is  the  only  way.' 

The  madman  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  his 
face  set  in  a  smiling  mask.  '  It 's  no  good,  you  see. 
They  w^on't  touch  me.  And  so  I  ask  you,  as  a  brother 
ofl&cer — as  a  last  request  .  .  .' 

Zillner  felt  as  if  serpents  were  twining  cold  about 
his  throat.  '  The  men,  su','  he  whispered.  '  It  is 
impossible.  .  .  .' 


64  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

The  men  were  already  casting  curious  glances  at  the 
pair. 

'  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  I  forgot.  No,  it 's  no  business 
of  theirs.  Though  it  hardly  matters,  as  things  stand. 
These  fine  old  regiments — glorious  traditions  .  .  .  and 
all  lost — lost.  .  .  .'  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  went 
on  in  a  changed  voice,  as  if  indicating  a  report :  '  The 
enemy  is  pouring  masses  of  troops  into  Galicia  by  way  of 
Kiev.  We  knew  nothing  of  these  dispositions.  Lem- 
berg  has  already  fallen.  I  gave  the  order  to  push  on, 
wishing  to  crush  the  enemy  after  his  defeat  of  yesterday. 
But  in  the  meantime  we  are  outflanked  on  the  south, 
and  two  army  corps  are  pushing  up  to  attack  the  posi- 
tion here — two  army  corps,  in  addition  to  the  force 
already  engaged.  I  knew  nothmg  of  al]  this,  and  his 
Excellency  .  .  .  ' 

'  His  Excellency  ?  '  Zillner  stared  blankly  at  the 
other. 

'  Dead.  He  imderstood  that  the  position  was  hopeless, 
and  shot  himself.     That  was  just  before  I  came  away.' 

'  And  the  position  is  h(,>peless  ?  '  Sand  and  grass  and 
cowering  men  danced  before  Zillner's  eyes,  the  whole 
scene  rising  and  falling  as  to  the  beating  of  his  pulse. 
'  There  is  no  chance  of  .  .  .  ?  ' 

'  None.  And  so  I  ask  you,  as  a  last  favour  ...  let 
me  die  by  a  comrade's  hand.' 

Zillner  looked  at  the  man,  who  stood  there  pale  and 
earnestly  insistent  with  his  last  mad  prayer.  And  a 
feeling  of  harsh  pitiless  anger  grew  up  in  him  as  he 
thought  of  what  it  meant  to  himself.  '  It  is  not  for  me 
to  judge,'  he  said  coldly.  '  If  you  are  looking  for  death — 
there  is  the  firing  line.' 

'  You  are  right — you  are  right.'  The  Colonel  was 
shaking  with  hollow  laughter.  Close  beside  them  lay 
an  orderly  shot  through  the  head.  '  He  doesn't  want  it 
now,'  he  murmured,  and  bending  down,  he  took  the 
dead  man's  rifle  and  a  handful  of  cartridges.  '  Thanks, 
comrade.'  And  next  moment  he  was  galloping  off  to- 
wards the  roar  of  the  firing  line,  his  elegant  breeches 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  65 

fluttering  in  the  wind  of  his  pace.  A  crash,  and  horse 
and  rider  came  to  earth ;  the  bay  had  been  shot 
through  the  shoulder-blade,  and  lay  with  its  muzzle 
full  of  grass. 

•  •••*•• 

Zillner's  brain  was  racked  with  a  discordant  chaos  of 
untuned  strings,  with  a  deep  insistent  bass  repeating 
*  Scoundrels  !  Scoundrels  ! '  Their  mad  ambition,  their 
brutal  carelessness,  was  to  be  paid  for  now  with  the 
lives  of  thousands ;  thousands  of  lives  sacrificed  uselessly. 
And  then  they  came  to  him,  begging  for  death.  What 
did  he  care  how  they  died  ?  He  strove  to  collect  him- 
self. '  The  position  was  hopeless.'  But  the  man  had 
been  desperate  when  he  spoke  ;  his  brain  was  gone. 
There  must  be  some  way  out.  Here  were  the  men,  good 
soldiers,  well  under  cover  in  a  good  position.  The  ground 
sloped  down  in  a  natural  glacis  towards  the  enemy,  with- 
out a  ridge  or  fold  beyond  ;  the  attack  would  melt  away 
in  crossing  the  open.  Here  was  his  regiment ;  its  cour- 
age was  proved.  The  brave  fellows  in  their  sand  en- 
trenchments would  serve  as  well  as  a  breastwork  of  steel. 
No,  no,  no — they  would  not  give  way,  they  would  not 
falter.  They  would  make  up  in  pluck  and  endurance 
what  others  had  forfeited  by  their  idle  selfishness.  The 
firing  had  settled  to  a  regular  rhythmic  beat.  Zillner 
crept  up  on  to  the  ridge,  watching  the  ground  in  front 
through  his  glass.  There  lay  the  men  in  a  long  line, 
firing  steadily  ;  on  the  left  were  the  Buttlers  curving 
round  towards  the  west.  There  was  nothing  to  fear. 
And  the  Russians  had  not  succeeded  in  carrying  their 
attack  very  far  as  yet.  For  hours  they  had  been  lying 
there  in  close  order,  eight  hundred  paces  away  ;  through 
the  glass  one  could  see  them  working  away  with  the 
spades  to  throw  up  further  protection  against  the 
murderous  fire.  On  the  right  were  the  Collaltos,  who 
had  done  such  splendid  work  the  day  before.  The 
position  was  strong  enough. 

But  what  was  that  ?  .  .  .  Something  was  going  on 
out  there  ;  an  uneasy  movement  among  the  men  in  the 


66  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

firing  line.  Reserves  hurrying  up  and  getting  into 
position  on  the  extreme  right.  And  now  masses  of  the 
enemy  rushing  up,  and  spreading  out  on  the  threatened 
flank,  where  the  firing  was  growing  more  furious  every 
moment.  A  desperate  spurt  from  the  machine-guns 
.  .  .  and  then  the  bullets  began  to  fall  among  Zillner's 
men — from  the  flank. 

'  Herr  Hauptmann — ^we  are  under  fire  from  the  right 
flank,'  stammered  Lieutenant  Spicka,  his  eyes  glancing 
nervously  around. 

'  And  what  if  we  are,  sir ! '  returned  Zillner  sternly, 
looking  the  other  straight  in  the  face  till  he  turned 
away. 

An  orderly  came  hurrying  up,  bareheaded,  and  with 
the  blood  flowing  in  broad  streams  down  nose  and 
cheeks.  '  Battalion  orders,'  he  gasped  out,  and  thrust 
forward  a  strip  of  paper  with  trembling  hand.  The 
writing  was  pedantically  neat ;  the  order  ran :  '  In 
accordance  with  instructions  received.  The  right  flank 
will  retire.  The  first  battalion  will  hold  the  enemy  in 
check  until  the  remainder  have  reached  the  next  position. 
The  whole  battalion  will  move  up  into  the  firing  line  at 
once. — Blagorski,  Major.' 

Zillner  turned  and  looked  out  towards  the  rear.  The 
next  line  of  defence  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  village. 
Between  the  two  lines  lay  a  small  hollow  in  the  ground, 
and  a  series  of  low  ridges. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  the  men  crept  out  from  the  shelter 
of  the  pits.  '  Smartly  now,  men  ! '  Zillner  had  drawn 
his  revolver.  Those  in  front  were  already  coming  out 
from  their  cover.  The  first  line  retired,  in  good  order  to 
begin  with,  the  officers  leading.  Then,  after  many  had 
fallen  shot  from  behind,  and  others  were  seen  rolling 
down  like  hares  across  the  ground,  to  lie  gasping — then 
the  rest  gave  way.  Death  was  at  their  heels,  reaching 
out  at  them  with  a  thousand  hands.  In  a  moment  they 
were  in  full  flight,  rushing  across  in  little  groups,  and 
ducking  as  they  went.     - 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  67 

'  After  me  I  After  me  I '  cried  the  officers.  But  finding 
the  men  did  not  heed,  they  ran  at  full  speed  themselves, 
on  the  heels  of  their  men.  Blagorski's  battalion,  cover- 
ing the  retreat,  kept  up  a  desperate  fire  against  the  close 
masses  of  the  pursuing  Russians.  They  began  to  waver. 
But  on  the  right,  where  the  Collaltos  reserves  were  striv- 
ing to  keep  their  ground  against  a  whole  brigade,  they 
were  in  danger  of  being  outflanked.  The  enemy  was 
trying  to  grasp  the  whole  position  between  a  pair  of 
mighty  jaws,  and  if  they  could  be  brought  to  meet,  all 
was  over.  Already  small  detachments  were  advancing 
on  the  line  of  the  retreat.  They  were  under  fire  now  from 
the  right  rear  .  .  .  and  now  .  .  .  Zillner  cast  a  glance 
once  more  towards  the  weakest  point — now  the  Collaltos 
were  retiring  at  the  double.  The  men  poured  down  like 
a  grey  avalanche,  racing  without  any  semblance  of  order, 
towards  the  nearest  dip  in  the  ground. 

'  Cease  fire ! '  Zillner  hissed  out  the  words  between  his 
teeth,  and  gave  the  order  to  retire.  The  men  crept  out 
reluctantly  from  their  cover.  Pistol  in  hand,  he  hurried 
over  to  a  group  of  Spicka's  men,  who  were  standing 
hesitatingly  on  the  slope,  Spicka  himself  among  them. 

'  Do  you  want  to  be  taken  prisoner  ?  Back,  or  I  shoot 
you  down  myself.'  The  Czech  pulled  himself  together  at 
this,  and  staggered  out  at  the  head  of  his  men  into  the 
open,  where  clouds  of  dust  were  rising  from  the  ground, 
tiny  flickers  as  of  smoke,  that  came  and  vanished,  wher- 
ever the  swift  leaden  drops  fell  to  earth.  They  hurried 
on.  Only  a  few  paces  out  from  cover,  and  Zillner  saw 
a  figure  at  his  side  suddenly  check.  It  was  the  pale- 
faced  Doctor  Freischaff.  He  flung  up  his  arms,  made 
one  spring,  and  fell  forward  stiff  as  a  log.  Shot  through 
the  heart. 

Pfustermeyer  was  there,  on  the  left,  his  burly  form 
moving  with  big,  powerful  strides,  and  beside  him  was 
the  Major,  pointing  with  his  riding  whip  towards  the 
burning  village.  Hallada  had  remained  behind  in  the 
trenches,  with  an  insignificant  little  hole  in  his  ever 
worried  head.    He  had  died  without  even  finding  time 


68  CAPTAE^^  ZILLNER 

for  a  last  protest.  Grill,  the  model  captain,  held  a 
smoking  Browning  in  his  hand  ;  he  had  shot  down  a 
couple  of  his  own  men,  who  had  refused  to  face  the  rush 
across  the  open.  The  rest  of  the  company  followed  at 
his  heels,  like  cowed  beasts  after  their  master. 

Once  down  in  the  hollow,  however,  where  the  well- 
timed  shrapnel  and  heavier  shells  fell  thick  rtmong  the 
retreating  men,  even  the  impeccable  Grill  broke  into  a 
run*  They  were  all  running  now,  stumbling  breathlessly 
on  towards  the  village.  There  was  no  longer  any  sem- 
blance of  order,  only  little  irregular  groups  pressing  on 
in  a  race  for  life,  each  man  with  lungs  and  limbs  urged 
to  the  utmost.  Even  then  it  was  all  a  matter  of  chance, 
for  the  little  white  clouds  broke  as  often  as  not  over  the 
foremost,  and  the  shells  sent  up  their  dreadful  fountain- 
spurts  of  dust  with  an  impartial  mixture  of  old  limbs 
and  young,  the  active  and  the  exhausted,  mingled  in  one 
purplish  carnage.     On,  on  ...  in  retreat  I  .  .  . 

Over  the  torn  and  bloodstained  ground  of  the  Podo- 
lian  steppe  rose  a  wail  from  the  depths  of  human 
hearts — Mother  I  That  sacred  name,  the  earliest  word 
uttered  in  conscious  speech — that  word  it  was  that  rose 
now  from  the  earth  in  shriek  and  groan,  the  last  word 
uttered  by  parched  lips  to  the  unpitying  sky.  Mother ! 
.  .  .  The  last  heartfelt  prayer,  that  could  have  no  ful- 
filment on  earth,  or  perhaps  the  wonderful  vision  merci- 
fully granted  to  the  dying  ere  they  passed  into  nothing- 
ness. .  .  .  The  touch  of  tender,  cooling  hands  on  burn- 
ing forehead  and  on  thirsting  lips :  Mother !  .  .  . 

'  Company  Four  this  way.'  From  a  little  birch  copse, 
where  the  shadows  were  already  lengthening  towards 
evening,  Zillner  called  again  and  again,  assembling  his 
men.  But  only  some  thirty  of  them  straggled  up,  pale, 
half -dead,  and  grey  with  dust  and  fear  and  exhaustion. 
The  Czech  was  there,  with  twelve  of  his  men,  von  Prager 
had  but  five  of  his  ;  the  rest  belonged,  some  to  Andrei's 
command,  and  others  to  that  of  Freischaff,  who  had 
fallen,    Andrei  himself  was  missing. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  60 

'  Where  is  Lieutenant  Andrei  ?  Has  any  one  seen 
him  fall  ?  ' 

No  one  knew  what  had  become  of  him.  Some  one 
had  last  seen  him  on  the  extreme  left  of  the  line — pos- 
sibly he  was  now  with  the  rest  of  the  first  company, 
Zillner  passed  his  *hand  over  his  aching  eyes.  If  only 
the  boy  might  be  spared  !     He  had  grown  fond  of  him. 

Shrapnel  began  to  burst  above  the  copse,  as  if  it 
had  scented  out  its  prey.  '  Retire  I '  And  again  they 
hurried  back,  keeping  some  sort  of  order  until  they 
reached  the  high  road  leading  to  the  Austrian  frontier. 
The  men  were  worn  out  now  with  fatigue,  and  followed 
lethargically  at  their  leader's  heels.  Along  the  road, 
the  debris  of  the  splendid  regiments  was  hurrying  west- 
ward— remains  of  the  Collaltos,  with  those  that  were 
left  of  the  Buttlers  and  the  Landwehr,  all  mingled  to- 
gether. The  disorderly  flight  had  ceased  now,  and  soon 
the  officers  had  pieced  the  scattered  units  together,  and 
were  leading  their  men  in  orderly  ranks.  There  were 
eight  companies  of  the  Tiefenbachers,  and  these  had 
formed,  under  the  hoarse  command  of  the  Major,  into 
a  column — ^the  old  man  himself  hobbling  along  on  foot ; 
his  spare  horse,  his  orderly,  and  the  bugler  had  dis- 
appeared. The  Adjutant  had  been  left  wounded  on  the 
field,  and  might  by  now  be  under  the  care  of  the  Russian 
ambulance  men.  The  whole  of  the  third  battalion  was 
missing.  So,  as  the  stars  came  out,  this  wreck  of  a 
regiment  dragged  itself  along.  The  men  spoke  no  word. 
They  passed  a  little  hamlet  through  which  they  had 
marched  singing  merrily  but  three  days  back ;  the 
market  square  was  packed  with  supply  and  transport 
waggons  wedged  inextricably  into  one  wheeled  chaos. 

*  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  '  asked  the  Major  angrily 
of  a  captain  apparently  in  charge.  '  You  should  have 
been  on  ahead  long  since.  Can't  you  see  we  are 
retiring  ?  ' 

'  We  have  been  waiting  for  orders  since  one  o'clock 
this  afternoon.  We  had  no  instructions  to  move 
anywhere.' 


70  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  You  have  had  no  instructions  from  division  head- 
quarters ? ' 

'  No,  sir.' 

'  Well,  then,  you  can  act  on  mine.  Back  to  Jaroslav 
at  once.' 

'  Very  good,  sir.' 

But  while  the  tangled  confusion  of  vehicles  was  slowly 
getting  under  way,  something  new  and  terrible  happened. 
Sudden  flashes  of  light  appeared  far  away  on  the  horizon  ; 
the  night  was  lit  with  bursts  of  red  that  flung  whirring 
bullets  down  upon  the  train  of  carts  where  men  were 
cursing  and  cracking  their  whips.  Fierce  flames  shot 
up  almost  at  once  from  the  houses  round,  there  was  a 
jangle  of  bells  in  the  church  tower,  and  from  a  building 
on  the  north  side,  which  had  been  temporarily  trans- 
formed into  a  field  hospital,  came  wild,  bestial  screams. 
Hurrying  flames  slithered  along  the  roof.  The  transport 
animals  were  mad  with  fear.  The  peasants,  who  had 
been  commandeered  with  their  teams,  cut  the  traces 
and  galloped  off ;  revolvers  cracked  out,  and  heavy 
wheels  cut  ugly  ruts  through  the  groups  of  men  and 
horses.  Shouts  of  '  Every  man  for  himself '  rose  above 
the  din.  At  doors  and  windows,  terrified  Jews  stretched 
vain  arms  out  towards  the  approaching  terror.  The 
remainder  of  a  Hungarian  regiment  dashed  out  with 
wild  shouts  in  the  direction  of  the  unseen  enemy,  making 
for  the  eastern  side  of  the  village,  and  pouring  out  a  hail 
of  lead  into  the  darkness.  It  was  a  vain  endeavour  ;  the 
guns  were  far  off,  and  had  got  the  range  most  accurately. 
The  cries  from  the  hospital  building  had  ceased  ;  the  roof 
had  fallen  in,  with  a  rain  of  sparks,  and  yellow  tongues 
of  flame  were  licking  greedily  out  from  the  windows. 
The  Tiefenbachers  did  not  wait  for  more,  but  hurried  off 
as  the  first  shells  crashed  down  upon  the  square.  They 
struggled  on  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  then,  reaching 
a  village,  flung  themselves  down  to  rest. 

'  Gentlemen,'  said  the  Major,  in  a  voice  that  was  but 
the  weary  shadow  of  his  ordinary  tone.  '  Let  the  men 
have  one  emergency  ration,  if  you  please.    One,  you 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  71 

understand  me.  For  Heaven's  sake,  see  that  they  don't 
break  open  the  others.'  The  men  ate  their  tinned  meat 
cold  ;  for  two  days  they  had  eaten  nothing  but  dry 
bread.  They  found  such  quarters  as  they  could  in 
cottages  and  barns.  Zillner  dropped  exhausted  on  to 
some  evil-smelling  straw  in  a  cow-byre,  and  fell  into  a 
leaden  sleep. 

The  Russians  did  not  follow  up  the  pursuit,  and  next 
morning  the  retreating  masses  of  men  were  gradually 
restored  to  order  as  far  as  could  be  done.  Already  the 
leaders  were  preparing  to  resume  concerted  operations. 
The  long-lost  third  battalion  of  the  Tiefenbachers  came 
in  at  last,  having  followed  a  line  almost  parallel  with 
the  high  road,  and  losing  its  leader  on  the  way,  smashed 
to  pieces  by  a  shell.  The  glittering  grey  line  had 
shrunk  to  a  third  of  its  length.  By  good  fortune,  the 
field  kitchens  were  at  hand,  and  the  cooking  pots  boiled 
gaily  as  ever. 

Major  Blagorski  had  still  no  mount  of  his  own,  but 
had  taken  over  one  belonging  to  Hallada,  who  had  na 
longer  any  use  for  it. 

The  Brigadier  sat  in  a  car  lately  the  property  of 
the  General  of  Division,  now  deceased.  His  spectacles 
twinkled  uneasily  as  he  glanced  down  the  column,  not- 
ing the  number  and  state  of  the  men.  He  was  feeling 
far  from  comfortable.  The  unlooked-for  disaster  of 
the  day  before  had  sent  him  flying  terror-stricken,  with 
his  staff,  far  ahead  of  the  general  retirement,  and  it  was 
not  until  this  moment  that  he  had  learned  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  supply  column.  The  entire  transport  of  the 
division — ^waggons,  stores,  and  ammunition — had  been 
annihilated,  and  most  of  the  telephone  and  telegraph 
material  was  lost.  Three  waggons,  under  the  charge 
of  a  subaltern  of  engineers,  had  got  away,  and  that  was 
all.  Certainly,  it  was  not  a  pleasant  situation  for  a 
Brigadier.  There  was  considerable  likelihood  of  some 
disapprobation  in  high  quarters,  and  how  was  he  to 
explain  away  the  fatal  error  of  leaving  the  entire  trans- 


72  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

port  without  orders  in  case  of  emergency  ?  He  cast 
about  for  some  one  upon  whom  to  lay  the  blame. 

'  How  comes  it  that  the  supply  column  had  no  orders 
to  retire  ? '  he  asked  sternly,  turning  his  spectacles  full 
on  the  young  captain  of  the  General  Staff,  who  sat  at 
his  side.  But  the  other  was  wary,  and  guessed  what 
was  in  his  mind. 

'  I  only  heard  of  it  this  morning,  sir.  Possibly  Colonel 
von  Rutzitiger,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  may 
have  omitted  to  send  word.  Naturally  it  did  not 
occur  to  me  to  consider  even  the  possibility  of  such 
an  omission.' 

'  H'm — yesi  H'm.'  This  left  matters  as  bad  as  ever 
for  the  Brigadier.  He  felt  helplessly  that  the  other  was 
meanly  sheltering  himself  behind  the  shadow  of  the 
dead  Colonel,  whose  evidence  was  no  longer  procurable. 
'  H'm.  Yes,  no  doubt.  But  afterwards — surely  it  must 
have  occurred  to  you  later  on  to  ascertain  what  had  been 
done.  A  point  of  so  vital  importance  .  .  .  Colonel  von 
Rutzinger  having  fallen,  you  would  automatically  take 
his  place.' 

The  young  man  faced  the  spectacled  scrutiny  with  an 
air  of  untroubled  innocence.  '  By  that  time,  sir,  we 
were  at  a  point  where  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
ascertain  what  instructions  had  been  given.' 

'  H'm. ' .  .  .'  The  Brigadier  knit  his  brows,  and  was 
silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  went  on,  speaking  with 
injured  emphasis,  '  It  was  unpardonable — altogether 
unpardonable  of  the  Chief  of  Staff  to  have  forgotten  it. 
But  in  any  case,  the  responsibility  cannot  be  laid  to  my 
charge.' 

The  Captain  murmured  a  respectful  assent. 

All  that  remained  of  the  Chief  of  Staff  was  a  naked 
corpse  in  the  trenches  far  behind.  The  Cossacks  had 
plundered  and  stripped  the  body,  and  left  it  lo  the  crows, 
that  had  formed  up  with  greedy  eyes  to  the  funeral 
parade.  And  those  who  mourned  for  him  folded  their 
hands — the  responsibility  could  not  be  laid  to  his  charge. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  73 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  Russian  giant  was 
thrusting  clumsily  groping  hands  far  into  the  Austrian 
territory,  driving  in  a  wedge  of  men  such  as  the  world 
had  never  seen.  They  poured  in  continually  from  the 
east,  making  towards  the  capital,^  in  numbers  that  upset 
all  calculations  upon  which  the  defence  had  been  based. 

'  This  is  altogether  unprecedented  ;  unlooked  for,' 
complained  the  General  in  Command.  '  They  're  not 
giving  us  a  fair  chance.  And  from  all  information  re- 
ceived— no,  it  is  impossible.  And  what  are  they  doing 
in  the  Ukraine  ?  They  were  to  have  risen  in  revolt  at 
the  start.  But  there  's  not  a  sign  of  any  revolt.  A  most 
unsatisfactory  state  of  things  all  round.' 

The  General  himself,  without  any  particular  qualifi- 
cation for  his  task  beyond  the  influence  in  high  quarters 
which  had  secured  his  appointment,  felt  himself  aggrieved. 
Elsewhere,  the  Austrian  forces  were  pushing  victoriously 
on  into  the  enemy's  country,  while  he  himself  was  forced 
to  act  continually  on  the  defensive.  What  could  one 
do  in  a  case  like  this  ?  And  casting  about  for  some  for- 
mula to  aid  his  strategic  mind,  he  hit  upon  the  enticing 
phrase, '  Ride  them  down ! '  And  he  grasped  it,  making 
it  a  crutch  for  his  support.  That  was  the  way,  of  course ; 
the  very  thing.  Up  in  the  north  ^  his  colleagues  were 
winning  battles  one  after  another,  while  he  was  expected 
to  sit  here  and  hold  the  position — nothing  more.  It  was 
a  minor  part,  with  little  chance  of  gaining  any  credit  at 
the  end.  Hang  it  all,  what  the  others  could  do,  he  must 
be  able  to  do  as  well.  The  Russians  were  probably  not 
so  strong  after  all — those  last  reports  from  his  airmen 
must  be  wrong.  Had  not  the  Intelligence  Department, 
always  a  model  of  organisation  and  method,  assured  him 
that  the  mobilisation  in  the  inner  provinces  of  Russia 

^  The  author  is  purposely  vague  as  to  which  of  the  Austrian  armies 
is  concerned  in  the  events  described.  The  situation  here  does  not 
strictly  fit  any  section  of  the  forces  as  actually  placed,  but  he  seems 
to  be  thinking  of  the  Third  Army  under  General  Brudermau,  though 
his  force,  in  reality,  never  crossed  the  Polish  frontier. 

2  The  First  Army  under  General  Dankl,  and  the  Fourth  under 
General  von  Auffenbach. 


n  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

was  '  still  far  from  complete  enough  to  render  the  army 
capable  of  taking  the  field,  as  the  lack  of  adequate  rail- 
way communication  and  transport  facilities  rendered  it 
a  matter  of  no  inconsiderable  difficulty  to  effect  the  con- 
centration of  large  bodies  of  troops.'  This  reassuring 
statement  was,  moreover,  '  confirmed  by  intelligence 
received  through  confidential  sources.' 

What  could  be  more  trustworthy  than  this — from 
such  a  quarter  ?  The  General  felt  strongly  inclined  to 
regard  the  information  brought  in  by  his  own  airmen 
as  exaggerated.  Ahmen  were  excitable  by  tempera- 
ment— they  saw  a  great  deal  more  than  there  was  to 
see.  No,  far  better  trust  to  the  excellent  authority  of 
the  higher  official  source.  The  elegant  phrasmg,  too, 
was  in  itself  calculated  to  inspire  confidence.  '  No 
inconsiderable  difficulty  .  .  .  lack  of  adequate  com- 
munication. .  .  .'  No  breathless  excitement  there.  He 
would  chance  it. 

The  Chief  of  Staff  intimated,  with  a  discreet  smile  and 
a  respectful  murmur,  that  he  too  was  disposed  to 
'  chance  it '  .  .  .  and  the  General  proceeded  to  act. 
The  army  entrusted  to  his  care  wasj)rdered  out  from  its 
position  to  advance  against  the  enemy.  The  carefully 
prepared  defences,  trenches  and  barbed  wire  entangle- 
ments, shrapnel -proof  shelters  for  machine-guns,  and 
laboriously  constructed  artillery  positions — all  these  had 
formed  a  barrier  wall  against  which,  according  to  the 
plan  first  conceived  by  the  Minister  of  War,  the  Russians 
were  to  batter  their  foreheads  until  the  armies  operating 
in  the  north  could  move  down  and  roll  them  up  from 
the  flank,  when  they  would  be  driven  back  and  crushed 
against  the  rocky  sides  of  the  Carpathians.  These 
defences  were  now  abandoned,  and  the  troops  moved  out 
to  encounter  the  enemy  in  the  open. 

The  advance  proceeded  rapidly  enough.  A  small 
force  of  light  cavalry  went  on  ahead.  The  giant  hand 
opened  wide,  while  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men  hurried 
forward  into  its  grip.  .  .  .  And  then,  it  closed.  The 
General  was  very  distressed  to  find  himself  surrounded. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  75 

It  would  be  necessary  to  retreat,  and  that  with  speed  I 
He  allowed  the  fact  to  be  communicated  to  the  men  of 
his  courageous  army,  now  fighting  desperately  and  dying 
like  heroes,  whereupon  he  himself  lost  no  more  time, 
but  motored  off,  driving  with  long  stages  and  the  briefest 
halts.  Behind  him,  the  army  was  hacking  its  way  back, 
step  by  step,  bleeding  and  tortured,  scattered,  and 
striving  to  reunite.  But  the  giant  hand  grasped  first 
at  the  capital,^  and  then  turned  to  the  northward,  where 
the  hitherto  victorious  armies  were  likewise  forced  to 
halt,  being  threatened  from  flank  and  rear.  They 
halted,  and  commenced  to  retreat.  Official  telegrams 
flooded  the  country  with  lying  accounts  of  how  it  had 
become  necessary  '  for  strategical  reasons  '  to  abandon 
the  capital,  and  reconstruct  the  front.  And  the  bright- 
ness of  confidence  began  to  be  obscured  by  a  veil  of 
doubt.  Never  since  Radetzky's  day  had  Austria  been 
so  hopeful  and  so  united  as  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war. 
But  now  the  pessimists  and  the  critics  began  to  lift 
their  heads.  '  Aha !  Abandon  .  .  .  reconstruct.  .  .  . 
We  're  beaten,  that 's  what  it  means.  Beaten  already, 
well,  what  did  I  say  .  .  .  ?  '  And  so  the  germ  of  doubt 
and  suspicion  was  spread  abroad. 

.  .  .  Vienna  was  invaded  by  a  locust-swarm  of 
fugitives,  hungering  for  compassion,  each  bringing  one 
little  story  of  private  horror,  which  was  told  and  retold 
continually — so  many  little  black  flags  of  poverty,  con- 
fusion, fear,  and  the  need  of  comfort,  until  the  sun  of 
confidence  was  darkened  by  their  number.  The  official 
telegrams  shouted  to  the  people  to  keep  cool.  '  Listen 
to  me,  to  me,  only  to  me  I  I  alone  am  privileged  to 
know  the  truth — observe  the  guarantee  of  the  kaiserl, 
und  kanigl.  censor;  it  is  all  here  in  black  and  white. 
There  is  no  deception.  The  reconstruction  was  affected 
solely  in  order  that  we  might  await  the  enemy  in  a  new 
and  far  superior  position,  an  impregnable  position,^  and 
ensure  his  final  and  complete  destruction.' 

^  This  would  be  Lemberg,  the  capital  of  Galicia. 
*  Crodek,  the  strong  position  west  of  Lemberg. 


76  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  All  right,'  croaked  the  pessimists.  And  the  Press 
shouted  Bravo  ! — for  behind  the  Press  was  the  Bourse, 
anxious,  terror-stricken,  with  quavering  pulse  and  trem- 
bling knees.  '  Bravo  !  Yes,  the  army  has  retired  before 
the  weight  of  superior  numbers,  but  we  have  still  faith 
in  the  brave  hearts  of  the  men  and  the  genius  of  their 
leaders.    We  are  not  downhearted — ^not  a  bit  of  it.    No  I ' 

Whereafter  the  Bourse  took  refuge  in  the  phrases  of 
the  newspaper  leaders,  and  found  new  courage — of  a 
sort.  But  the  troops  ?  The  nien  in  the  ranks,  the  un- 
known heroes,  streaming  back  in  broken  columns  along 
every  road  ?  They  had  marched  bravely  forward  along 
the  road  of  sacrifice ;  numbers  beyond  counting  had 
flung  themselves  joyously  into  certain  death,  without  a 
thought  of  self.  These  armies  were  as  battering  rams, 
forged  from  the  very  hearts  of  the  people,  a  braver 
weapon  than  Austria  in  its  best  days  had  ever  known. 
And  now  the  best  of  them  lay  dead  in  the  sand,  or  were 
driven  in  weary  lines  to  captivity — a  loss  that  nothing 
could  replace.  These  men  had  no  share  in  the  agony 
of  conscience  that  was  ever  in  the  minds  of  their  leaders. 
Regiments  and  battalions  struggled  back  along  the  road 
of  pain,  but  they  could  yet  hold  their  heads  high,  and 
look  their  fellows  in  the  face.  They  bore  the  honourable 
marks  of  sacrifice,  these  beaten  men ;  the  halo  of  un- 
noted martyrdom  shone  over  these  poor  draggled  figures, 
and  brighter  still  it  gleamed  above  the  common  graves. 
There  were  regiments  who  had  charged  eight  times  in  a 
single  day.  There  were  some  that  had  lost  nine-tenths 
of  their  oJSicers,  and  two-thirds  of  their  men  in  those 
terrible  months  of  August  and  September — ^regiments 
brought  down  to  the  strength  of  battalions,  and  strug- 
gling on  hopelessly,  the  gleam  of  courage  faded  from 
their  eyes,  the  spirit  crushed  within.  .  .  .  Yet  wherever 
on  that  via  dolorosa,  with  its  landmarks  of  pain,  the 
broken  men  were  called  upon  for  yet  another  sacrifice, 
they  answered  to  the  call,  facing  about  and  holding  on 
to  the  last  man  to  cover  the  retreat  of  the  rest.  With 
lifted  heads,  and  hands  grasping  with  new  strength  at 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  77 

their  rifles,  these  worn  and  filthy  men,  the  peasants  and 
the  workers  in  the  cities,  went  cahnly  and  without  com- 
plaint to  do  their  duty.  Such  were  the  men,  the  rank 
and  file. 

On  the  third  day,  the  black-and -yellow  post  that 
marked  the  frontier  appeared  once  more  upon  the  road, 
reaching  out  appealingly  to  the  troops  as  they  passed  by. 
Even  the  double  eagle  on  the  shield  above  seemed 
stretching  its  neck  towards  them,  as  if  begging  not  to  be 
left  behind. 

Feldkirch's  division  passed  on  in  a  great  silence  ; 
men  thought  with  a  shudder  of  the  horrors  in  which 
their  comrades  lay  buried.  There  were  too  many  gaps 
in  their  ranks,  and  the  companies  had  been  reformed. 
Stragglers  came  in  from  time  to  time,  and,  counting  these, 
the  strength  of  the  companies  was  once  more  brought 
up  to  something  like  a  hundred  men.  More  than  half 
were  missing.  But  the  column,  shrunken  as  it  was,  had 
regained  a  certain  order  ;  the  precious  artillery  rattled 
along,  carefully  surrounded  by  infantry.  Major  Blag- 
orski  had  found  his  horse,  and  had  resumed  his  old 
anxious  respect  for  the  injunctions  of  his  superiors : 
'  Keep  your  men  strictly  in  order,  gentlemen,  if  you 
please.  The  new  commanding  oJB&cer  will  soon  be 
here.' 

Save  for  the  shrinkage  in  numbers,  there  was  little 
in  the  appearance  of  the  retreating  army  to  show  the 
horrors  of  the  last  few  days.  Thanks  to  the  constant 
exertions  of  the  officers  in  encouraging  their  men,  the 
panic  now  was  gone.  The  frightened  mob,  like  a  wild 
beast,  had  been  on  the  point  of  bursting  out  from  the 
cage  of  discipline,  but  they  had  forced  it  back  again, 
though  at  imminent  risk  to  themselvei^,  for  terrified  men 
are  not  easy  to  handle  at  any  time.  The  officers  had 
throughout  been  foremost  in  the  advance  and  last  in 
retreat,  the  subalterns  in  particular,  whose  task  it  was 
to  lead  in  that  dance  of  death.  Zillner,  riding  behind 
what  was  left  of  his  company,  thought  of  one  whose 
widow  would  shed  bitter  tears  over  a  letter  that  he 


78  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

carried  in  his  breast-pocket.  The  other  three  were  still 
alive.  Young  Andrei  had  come  in  the  day  before, 
with  Pfustermeyer's  company ;  unharmed,  but  with  the 
furrow  between  his  brows  deeper  than  ever.  '  We  '11 
beat  them  yet,  sir,  never  fear.' 

The  Czech  marched  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 
A  strange  fellow.  There  was  nothing  to  say  against 
him  in  any  way ;  he  kept  his  men  in  order,  and,  though 
not  exactly  a  hero  in  action,  he  had  certainly  not  behaved 
badly.  He  carried  out  his  duties  resignedly,  as  one 
unfairly  set  in  a  dangerous  post,  which  he  defended 
without  enthusiasm.  He  was  not  of  those  who  gladly 
shed  their  last  drop  of  blood  in  the  common  cause.  He 
was  a  son  of  that  divided  race  that  had  grown  fat  on 
German  culture,  and  yet  thirsted  for  the  doubtful  well- 
springs  wherewith  great  mother  Russia  watered  the 
endless  wastes  of  Panslavism. 

Prager,  the  third,  was  the  same  as  ever.  Cool  and 
indolent,  always  with  a  cigarette  between  his  lips. 
Brave,  because  his  honour  as  a  member  of  his  student 
corps  demanded  courage,  not  from  any  kind  of  military 
ambition.  His  men,  the  tactical  situation,  the  progress 
of  the  war  itself — all  these  were  things  that  did  not 
concern  him  in  the  least.  He  would  march  cheerfully 
at  the  head  of  his  men,  and  exposed  himself  when 
necessary,  but  he  exerted  no  influence  among  the  rest ; 
only  kept  to  himself,  and  smoked  his  cigarettes. 
F  Zillner  was  happy  to  have  his  three  subordinates  still 
with  him.  The  experiences  of  those  last  few  days  were 
of  a  sort  to  create  attachment  between  the  men  who  had 
lived  through  them.  He  rode  now,  as  did  his  brother 
captains,  deep  in  thought,  resigning  himself  to  a  feeling 
of  melancholy,  as  at  a  funeral,  where  the  longing  for  a 
resurrection  makes  itself  felt  behind  the  thought  of 
death.  They  were  still  young,  and  the  good  bright 
light  of  the  sun  was  cheering  ;  the  dreadful  things  of  life 
are  soon  forgotten  after  all.  They  were  still  alive,  and 
could  not  help  beginning  to  hope  once  more.  Hesitat- 
ingly_at  first,  then  with  increasing  strength,  the  men 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  79 

began  to  throw  off  the  fear  that  had  haunted  them  till 
now. 

It  was  otherwise  with  the  General  Staff.  The  man 
who  but  a  few  days  back  had  pointed  forward  with  the 
imperative  gesture  of  a  new  Napoleon,  was  suffering 
now  the  agonies  of  a  reproachful  conscience ;  orders 
and  instructions  were  sent  out  unceasingly,  and  precau- 
tions taken  for  every  conceivable  emergency.  Outposts 
were  set  continually  to  guard  against  any  surprise  from 
the  heavily  advancing  Russians,  so  that  the  men  were 
despoiled  of  their  night's  rest.  The  higher  command 
exhibited  every  symptom  of  nervous  anxiety,  racing  on 
swift  cars  far  ahead  of  the  main  body,  pulling  up  here 
and  there  to  improvise  some  temporary  headquarters 
on  the  way,  and  issuing  detailed  orders  thence  to  the 
various  units  as  to  what  should  be  done  in  the  event  of 
this  or  that,  all  precisely  as  on  manoeuvres.  One  point, 
however,  was  insisted  upon  with  an  earnestness  that  told 
of  something  more  :  the  troops  were  to  entrench  them- 
selves without  fail  every  night  before  going  to  rest. 
And  so  the  road -wearied  men  dug  trenches  every  night, 
only  to  march  on  next  morning  leaving  their  work 
behind  them  unproved.  The  enemy  never  attacked 
these  positions,  but  contented  himself  with  engaging  the 
rearguard  on  the  march,  preferably  about  noon,  the 
action  then  lasting  until  evening.  The  men  sacrificed 
themselves  bravely,  and  the  retreat  went  on. 

From  a  practical  point  of  view,  everything  was  most 
carefully  provided  for.  Other  arrangements,  however, 
left  much  to  be  desired.  The  men  were  poorly  fed  ; 
meat  was  obtainable,  but  there  was  no  bread  to  be  had. 
The  men  had  not  tasted  bread  for  seven  days,  and  the 
villages  they  passed  through  had  already  been  ransacked 
for  everything  eatable.  The  supply  officers  shrugged 
their  shoulders  ;  the  field  bakeries  had  been  captured 
with  the  transport,  their  stores  likewise.  Force  majeure 
.  .  .  Dies  tree,  .  .  .  The  army  was  growing  desperate 
with  exhaustion.  Any  man  who  fell  out  was  certain 
of  being  finished  off  by  the  Cossacks  that  prowled  round 


80  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

flanks  and  rear  like  jackals,  alternately  craven  and  bold. 
Their  own  cavalry  struggled  along  on  worn  and  starving 
horses  ;  the  petted  animals,  all  unused  to  the  hardships 
of  the  field,  could  not  hold  out  without  proper  quarters 
and  regular  feeding,  and  died  off  now  like  flies  ;  the 
roads  were  hedged  on  either  side  by  the  swollen  bodies 
of  dead  beasts,  and  the  dismounted  Centaurs  followed 
ignominiously  on  foot  at  the  tail  of  the  columns.  The 
population  of  the  villages  and  hamlets  preserved  a 
humble  silence ;  it  was  the  will  of  God.  In  the  Polish 
quarters  the  women  shrieked  aloud  at  sight  of  the 
troops  in  retreat,  dreading  plunder  and  worse  to  come. 
The  miserable  Ruthenians  stood  with  deferential  smiles 
as  long  as  they  were  observed,  and  grinned  maliciously 
as  soon  as  one's  back  was  turned.  And  the  priest  was 
always  to  be  seen  in  an  attitude  of  humility  before  his 
church,  with  his  hands  folded  over  his  portly  stomach. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  the  retreat,  an  unpleasant  episode 
occurred.  Grill  had  been  detached  with  his  company 
on  flank  guard,  and  halted  his  men  at  midday  in  a 
Ruthenian  village.  The  men  were  sent  to  fetch  water 
from  a  well  in  the  courtyard  of  the  BUrgermeister,  as 
being  presumably  the  best  in  the  place.  The  peasant 
stood  obligingly  with  a  row  of  buckets  ready  filled. 
This  unusual  courtesy  on  the  part  of  a  Ruthenian  struck 
Grill  as  curious,  and  a  sudden  suspicion  crossed  his 
mind.  '  Wait,'  he  cried,  '  let  the  fellow  drink  himself.' 
The  man  turned  pale,  and  glanced  uneasily  round. 
'  Drink,  you  dog  I '  roared  Grill.  Desperately  the 
peasant  turned,  and  would  have  fled,  but  it  was  too 
late.  '  Hold  him — so.  And  now  pour  the  stuff  down 
his  throat.'  Five  men  held  him,  bound  his  hands,  and 
tried  to  force  the  rim  of  a  cup  between  his  teeth ;  the 
man  struggled  and  spat. 

The  water  was  saturated  with  arsenic.  Grill  set  a 
cordon  of  men  to  surround  the  house,  and  went  through 
the  rooms.  A  woman,  an  old  man  of  seventy,  and  three 
little  girls  were  dragged  out. 

'  Tie  them  together,  and  set  them  against  the  wall.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  81 

A  volley  was  fired ;  the  troops  set  the  village  on  fire 
and  marched  off. 

That  evening  Grill  told  the  story  to  the  others. 
Zillner  looked  at  him,  and  asked  casually :  '  The 
woman  and  the  children — you  shot  them  too  ?  ' 

'  Of  course.  Stamp  out  the  whole  brood — the  only 
thing  to  do.' 

That  was  Grill's  way. 

They  came  to  the  great  river,  ^  on  the  banks  of  which 
the  students  of  the  art  of  war  had  fought  out  their  fiercest 
discussions  over  the  Kriegsspiel  in  the  days  of  peace. 
The  army  crossed  unopposed.  Next  day  the  giant  hand 
came  groping  across,  only  to  close  on  the  empty  air. 
Then  it  was  withdrawn  and  groped  its  way  towards  the 
fortress  in  the  south. ^ 

But  the  Austrian  armies  hurried  on,  and  did  not  pause 
until  they  had  penetrated  far  into  the  western  tracts  of 
their  own  country.  The  north,  east,  and  south  were 
occupied  by  the  enemy. 

*  The  river  San.  '  Przemysl. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Grand  old  regiments,  and  glorious.  .  .  .  Summer  was 
nearing  its  close,  and  war  strode  breathing  mightily 
through  the  land.  To  the  north,  the  power  of  the 
German  war  machine,  handled  by  men  of  genius,  had 
checked  the  heavy-witted  masses  of  the  advancing 
Russians,  and  flung  them  back  across  the  frontier  ;  to 
the  west,  again,  the  persistent  violence  of  the  German 
onslaught  had  demolished  fortresses,  conquered  a 
country,  and  was  now  pushing  on  stubbornly,  undimin- 
ished, through  the  territories  of  an  ancient  foe.  Mean- 
while, in  the  south,  Austrian  courage,  under  incapable 
leaders,  was  being  drained  of  its  blood  in  the  struggle 
against  the  heroic  defence  of  a  misguided  people.  It  was 
here  that  Martens'  Brigade,  the  Haugwitz  Dragoons  and 
the  Uhlans,  made  their  last  charge  ;  a  death-ride  never 
to  be  forgotten. 

On  a  level  plain,  six  thousand  paces  across,  a  mighty 
line  of  Russian  guns  thundered  out  upon  our  infantry. 
Martens'  Brigade,  untouched  as  yet,  was  posted  in  a 
little  hollow  on  the  left  flank,  with  the  regiments  drawn 
up  in  line.  Fifteen  hundred  horsemen,  still  more  or  less 
decently  mounted  ;  a  whinnying,  stamping,  shaking  of 
heads,  and  whisking  of  tails  all  down  the  long  front. 
Flies  and  hornets,  intoxicated  with  the  sun,  hung  in 
bloodthirsty  swarms  about  the  glistening  bodies  of  the 
horses,  fastening  themselves  on  flank  and  shoulder,  belly 
and  neck,  sucking  and  stinging  mercilessly.  The  tor- 
tured animals  flung  up  their  heels,  and  flicked  their 
cropped  tails,  but  all  in  vain. 

Krottenburg  slapped  with  his  gauntlet  at  the  delicate 
neck  of  his  restless  thoroughbred.  '  Got  you,  that  time, 
you  beast !    Look  at  him  :  big  as  a  grasshopper.    Ugh  1 ' 

81 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  88 

He  held  out  the  crushed  body  of  a  huge  wasp  towards  his 
companion.  *  Seem  to  thrive,  don't  they,  even  in  this 
filthy  hole  ? ' 

'  That 's  just  it,'  said  Pelzl,  the  heavyweight  captain 
of  his  troop.  *  Bugs  and  fleas  and  lice  and  Jews — just 
the  sort  of  things  that  would  thrive  in  a  place  like  this. 
Increase  and  multiply — tropical  luxuriance — ^the  old 
story.  And  the  finer  senses  gradually  disappear.  No 
such  thing  as  a  bath — and  as  for  manicure  .  .  .' 

*  Bath — no,  you  're  right  there,'  sighed  Krottenburg. 
*  Even  the  women  don't  wash.  I  never  saw  such  a  lot ; 
they  are  simply  not  fit  to  be  touched.  Here  and  there 
in  the  big  country  houses  perhaps,  you  may  find  one  or 
two  of  them  passably  clean — but  they  ^re  bagged  by  the 
General  Staff.  .  .  .  Heigho,  it 's  a  rotten  life.' 

'  Women  again  I '  said  Pelzl,  glancing  at  the  dejected 
face  of  his  handsome  subaltern.  '  What  an  ungrateful 
beggar  you  are !  With  a  charming  wife  of  your 
own  .  .  .' 

'  Yes,  of  course,'  said  Krottenburg,  patting  the  neck 
of  his  chestnut  caressingly.  '  Lisl — she  writes  every 
day,  pages  full  of  what  d'  you  call  it,  anxious,  you  know, 
and  tender,  and  all  that.  I  didn't  mean  that.  But, 
hang  it  all,  a  man  can't  help  it ;  animal  craving,  fair 
sex,  and  that  sort  of  thing.     You  know  what  I  mean.' 

'  Gallant  youth !  Ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 
Hullo,  look!  What  are  their  High-and -Mightinesses 
over  there  palavering  about  now,  I  wonder.'  Pelzl 
looked  across  at  the  rising  ground,  where  the  Divisional 
Staff  was  drawn  up,  with  glasses  pointing  towards  the 
horizon.  '  Something  brewing.  Wonder  if  it 's  for  us  ? 
It 's  an  infantry  business  really  :  we  've  nothing  to  do 
anyhow  but  sit  tight  and  look  on  till  it 's  settled  one  way 
or  another.  They  might  have  let  us  dismount  and  un- 
saddle, too,  instead  of  keeping  us  here  over  an  hour  on 
parade,  and  tiring  out  the  horses.    Oh,  they  're  a  nice  . . .' 

The  criticism  was  interrupted  by  the  voice  of  the 
Brigadier,  cutting  in  sharply  over  the  heads  of  the  rest- 
less horses,  *  Commanding  officers,  if  you  please.' 


84  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  Off  to  his  Excellency,'  murmured  Krottenburg. 
'  Gk)ing  to  dismount  us,  I  suppose,  and  set  us  pot-shotting 
with  the  infantry.  Of  all  the  dismal  games.  .  .  .  Might 
as  well  be  road-mending.    Ugh  1 ' 

'  It 's  hardly  likely.  There  are  no  enemy  infantry  for 
miles  on  this  flank.    Wait  and  see.' 

Colonel  Count  Schartenhayn-Binswangen's  splendid 
bay  pranced  lightly  down  the  front  of  the  regiment. 
The  Colonel,  white-haired,  yet  lithe  of  figure  as  any 
subaltern,  rode  with  long  stirrups,  and  an  easy,  careless 
seat,  yet  with  that  inimitably  graceful  elegance  in  the 
saddle  which  distinguishes  the  Austrian  cavalry  officer 
from  all  other  horsemen  in  the  world.  He  had  been  a 
prominent  figure  on  the  turf. 

He  galloped  off  now  towards  the  group  on  the  hill, 
the  three  staff  officers  following. 

The  hawk-nosed  General  of  Division  turned,  and 
pointed  towards  the  enemy  artillery  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  plain,  as  if  marking  down  his  prey. 

'  There,  Colonel,  if  you  please.     That  line  of  guns.' 

*  Yes,  your  Excellency  ?  '  The  Brigadier  stared  un- 
comprehendingly  at  his  superior  officer. 

'  We  are  facing  the  right  flank  of  the  position.  Your 
brigade  will  attack  there,  if  you  please.' 

The  old  soldier  sat  up  stiffly.  '  Your  Excellency  will 
permit  me :  our  patrols  report  that  the  batteries  are 
well  under  cover,  and  their  front  protected  with  barbed 
wire  defences.  There  is  also  a  battalion  of  infantry  on 
their  right,  in  support  of  the  guns.' 

The  General's  sallow  cheek  flushed  a  dull  red.  '  And 
what  then,  sir  ?    My  order  was  surely  clear  enough.' 

The  strong,  worn  face  of  the  Brigadier  turned  a  shade 
darker.  '  I  thought  it  my  duty,  your  Excellency,  to 
point  out,  with  all  respect,  that  the  order  could  hardly 
be  carried  out  successfully.' 

'  What — ^what  do  you  mean  ?  Not  be  carried  out. 
We  shall  see.  Now,  sir,  once  more.  Your  two  regi- 
ments will  advance  instantly  to  the  attack.  Instantly, 
You  understand  me  ?  ' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  85 

*  Yes,  your  Excellency,  I  understand.' 

*  Captain  von  Sagberg  of  my  staff  will  lead  the  attack. 
He  has  reconnoitred  the  ground.' 

The  young  staff  officer  bit  his  lip.  *  Very  good,  your 
Excellency.' 

Once  more  the  Brigadier  raised  his  hand  to  the  salute. 
'  Your  Excellency,  I  would  respectfully  request  that  the 
order  be  given  me  in  writing.' 

*  And  why,  sir  ?  '  The  General's  scraggy  neck  seemed 
straining  at  his  gold -embroidered  collar,  as  he  thrust 
out  his  yellow  bird-like  face  towards  the  other. 

'  That  it  may  be  found  upon  my  person  afterwards, 
in  proof  that  I  was  not  responsible  for  the  destruction 
of  the  brigade.' 

'  Sir.  .  .  .' 

The  two  looked  hard  into  each  other's  eyes ;  those 
of  the  one  aflame  with  fury,  the  other's  steady  as  lances 
of  steel.  At  last  the  vulture  face  drew  back  slowly  : 
his  Excellency  turned  to  his  Chief  of  Staff,  his  voice 
tremulous  with  the  struggle  for  self-control.  '  Make  out 
the  order  in  writing.  Major,  if  you  please.'  The  order 
was  written,  and  he  scrawled  his  name  at  the  foot* 
'  There,  sir.  And  now,  I  presume  I  may  request  you  to 
attack  as  I  have  said.' 

'  Zu  Befehlj  Excellenz' 

Four  men  rode  smilingly  back  to  the  brigade ;  four 
men  released  from  human  hope,  no  longer  bound  by  the 
most  human  thought  of  all,  the  thought  of  life.  Four 
soldiers,  hurrying  back  to  their  regiments,  to  do  their 
duty.  Life  they  knew  was  far  behind  them  now  ;  be- 
fore them,  nothing  but  an  honourable  death.  And  so 
they  smiled. 

The  Colonel  of  dragoons  reined  up  facing  his  men, 
and  rose  in  his  stirrups.  *  Men ! '  The  voice  of  the 
white-haired  old  aristocrat  rang  out  like  the  call  of  a 
silver  trumpet  to  man  and  horse.  *  We  are  advancing 
to  the  attack.  And  you  will  show  that  you  are,  by  God's 
grace,  of  that  same  good  fighting  stock  as  your  fathers, 
who  fought  at  Malplaquet  and  KoUin,  at  Aspem  and 


86  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Strzezetitz.  On,  then,  dragoons,  God  with  usl'  The 
sabre  flashed  out  hke  blue  flame  toward  the  sky.    '  Trot ! ' 

The  squadrons  emerged  from  the  gully,  their  accoutre- 
ments ringing  and  gleaming  in  the  sun,  and  advanced, 
making  toward  the  right  flank  of  the  line  of  guns,  the 
Brigadier  and  the  young  staff  officer  leading.  The  flood 
of  horsemen  made  a  wonderful  sight.  Unreal,  indeed, 
it  seemed  ;  a  vision  conjured  up  from  the  dim  past, 
when  the  prowess  of  mounted  ironsides  or  cavaliers 
decided  the  fate  of  battles.     But  to-day.  .  .  . 

'  Gallop  I '  Krottenburg  felt  his  chestnut  straining  at 
the  bit,  bounding  with  mighty  strides  over  turf  and 
sand,  delighting  in  the  rush  of  cool  air  on  its  flanks. 
The  rider  himself,  looking  out  from  under  his  grey- 
muffled  helmet,  saw  all  things  vaguely  through  a  rose- 
coloured  veil.  There  was  no  thought  in  his  mind  of 
anything.  Landmarks-  ahead  came  towards  them, 
neared,  passed,  and  vanished  under  the  rushing  hoofs  ; 
in  front  again  were  the  leaders,  swaying  rhythmically 
in  the  saddle  at  each  galloping  stride.  .  .  . 

Krottenburg,  like  a  good  soldier,  felt  now  but  one 
thing  :  On,  on,  and  cut  them  down  !  On  !  He  pressed 
the  heaving  sides  of  his  charger,  well  behind  the  girth, 
and  surged  forward  drunk  with  the  ecstasy  of  the  horse- 
man at  his  best.  Thus  his  father  had  ridden,  at  Strzeze- 
titz, against  the  men  whose  sons  were  now  his  comrades 
in  arms.  No  thought,  no  question — only  the  instinct 
to  press  on — on,  on,  and  cut  them  down ! 

Pelzl  the  heavyweight  flung  his  arms  wide,  a  gesture 
Krottenburg  knew,  and  next  moment  his  saddle  was 
empty.  But  Krottenburg  felt  no  pang  at  the  sight  of 
the  motionless  body,  as  the  hurrying  earth  beneath  the 
hoofs  bore  it  towards  him.  The  thoroughbred  cleared 
the  broad  spread  mass  of  flesh  in  a  stride,  and  passed  on. 
Ahead  of  them,  the  machine-guns  had  opened  fire.  The 
young  staff  officer  slid  backward  to  the  ground,  and  a 
moment  later  the  Brigadier  too  v/as  down;  both  lay 
pinned  under  their  horses  with  the  hoofs  jerking  con^ 
vulsively  above  them. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  87 

On,  on  .  .  .  The  Colonel's  white  hair  still  shone  out 
through  the  clouds  of  dust.  Bending  down  over  the 
neck  of  his  charger,  and  with  sabre  pointing  forward 
towards  the  guns,  he  dashed  on,  the  regiment  at  his  heels, 
all  wild  with  the  fury  of  the  race. 

There  they  were — plainly  visible  now,  the  men  at  the 
guns,  and  there  the  guns  themselves.     Ready  I 

'  On,  men,  on  ! '  roared  Klrottenburg ;  '  we  have  them 
now.  On,  on,  dragoons  !  '  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
his  voice  was  unsteady,  as  the  voice  of  a  man  delirious. 
'  Hurrah  !  dragoons,  hurrah  ! ' 

But  what  was  this  ? — things  turning  round,  whirling, 
quicker  and  quicker  .  .  .  the  guns  quite  close,  but 
whirling  over  to  the  right,  no,  to  the  left,  and  rocking, 
rocking  .  .  .  What  was  happening  ?  Now  he  himself 
falling,  floating  down  softly  to  a  great  depth,  softly, 
softly  .  .  .  Lisl,  forgive,  Lisl,  Lisl  .  .  .' 

Through  a  heavy  grey  mist  he  saw  that  horses  were 
rushing  past  him ;  horses  with  empty  stirrups  flying. 
And  then  no  more. 

On  a  little  eminence,  comfortably  out  of  range,  sat 
he  of  the  vulture  face,  with  his  aide,  watching  the 
attack.  '  Wanted  waking  up  a  bit,  that 's  all.  They  're 
getting  along  in  fine  style  now.'  What  do  you  say, 
Major  ?  ' 

The  Chief  of  Staff  made  no  answer,  but  vowed  inwardly 
that  when  once  this  business  was  over,  he  would  use  all 
his  influence  to  get  transferred  into  an  easier  post — a 
comfortable  chair  in  an  office,  at  the  Ministry.  ...  If 
only  they  were  well  out  of  this.  .  .  .  Surely  the  war  god 
still  protected  them  ?  He  would  never  let  them  all  .  .  . 
all  .  .  . 

He  glanced  covertly  at  his  Excellency,  and  the  latter 
spoke  again.  '  There  you  are — ^you  see  ?  Quite  close. 
They  '11  cut  those  batteries  to  mincemeat  in  good  cavalry 
style,  just  watch.  .  .  .' 

Then  the  guns  spoke.  The  vulture  face  craned  out 
from  the  gold -embroidered  collar :     '  Open  out,  open 


88  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

out — in  a  case  like  this — obviously,  with  an  objective  of 
that  extent.  .  .  .  Tut,  tut — ^really,  gentlemen,  to  go  on 
like  that  in  close  order — altogether  impossible.' 

But  the  staff  preserved  an  icy  silence.  The  Major 
rubbed  his  close  -  cropped  bristly  moustache  with  a 
trembling  hand — ^rubbed  it  intently,  continually.  .  .  . 

For  the  brigade  had  disappeared — evaporated.  A  few 
of  the  horses  were  still  to  be  seen ;  little  dark  specks 
whirling  about  frantically  in  the  distance  ;  then  they 
too  vanished  leaving  jio  trace,  as  raindrops  vanish  in  a 
thirsty  soil.  One  or  two  of  them  made  toward  their  own 
lines,  dashing  in  riderless,  and  with  their  trappings  torn 
to  rags.  One  came  straight  up  to  where  the  General 
stood  ;  on  it  came,  growing  bigger  and  bigger,  rushing 
madly  towards  them.  .  .  .  The  beast  halted  in  the  midst 
of  the  scattered  group,  and  stood  submissively  as  an 
orderly  came  up  to  lead  it  away.  It  was  Colonel 
Schartenhayn's  bay  charger.  And  at  sight  of  it  the 
yellow  vulture  face  grew  sicklier  still ;  the  General 
swung  his  horse  round,  and  bowed  his  sharp  nose  over 
its  neck  : 

'  My  God,  my  God,  why  didn't  they  open  out  ?  In 
close  order !  .  .  .  And  this  is  the  result.  .  .  .' 

No  one  spoke.  The  staff  galloped  back  in  silence, 
following  the  bowed  figure  of  their  general  to  the  safety 
of  the  rear.     Martens'  Brigade  had  ceased  to  exist. 

But  the  Lady  Empress,  in  her  Heaven,  might  have 
frowned  that  day,  and  spoken  sternly  :  '  Truly,  not 
for  such  as  he  of  the  vulture  face  did  we  found  this  our 
Order.  For  heroes ;  not  for  such  as  he.  Who  hath 
indeed  rather  merited  the  whipping  post,  the  pillory,  and 
thereafter  to  be  banished  from  our  realm.' 

So  she  might  have  spoken,  our  good  Empress-Mother, 
and  with  tears. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Krottenburg  came 
to  himself.  He  was  lying  in  the  shelter  of  a  small  copse  ; 
a  brook  was  murmuring  near  by.  The  trumpeter  of  hi? 
squadron  was  bending  over  him. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  80» 

*  What — ^wbat  's  the  matter  with  me,  Niederbichler  t 
And  where 's  the  squadron  ?  ' 

'  Mustn't  talk,  sir — beg  pardon,  I  'm  sure.  I  mean,, 
better  not  just  now.'  The  man,  a  tall,  broad-shouldered*, 
butcher  from  Vienna,  had  a  bloodstamed  bandage  about- 
his  head .     '  We  're  all  right  for  the  present,  sir,  trust  me.' ' 

'  But  where  are  the  others?  And  what's  happened- 
to  Ariosto  ? '  Krottenburg,  his  handsome  face  now 
deathly  pale,  strove  to  raise  himself  from  the  ground, 
but  sank  back  with  a  muttered  curse.  His  head  was 
dizzy,  and  figures  of  light  danced  before  his  eyes.  The 
trumpeter  was  settling  something  under  his  shoulders, 
it  seemed.  And  it  hurt  when  he  tried  to  speak.  *  Am  I 
wounded,  Niederbichler  ?  ' 

'  Nothing  very  much,  sir,  only  a  bit  of  a  bullet  in  the 
chest.  Nothing  hurt  inside,  far  as  I  can  see.  Best  not 
to  talk,  sir,  if  I  might  make  so  free.  It  might  bring  on 
the  bleeding  again.' 

Blood  .  .  .  Krottenburg  looked  down  at  his  tunic; 
it  was  dyed  a  reddish  brown.  He  put  one  hand  to 
his  chin,  and  felt  a  sticky  crust  extending  up  over 
his  mouth. 

'  Niederbichler — it  '11  soon  be  over,  won't  it  ?  Get 
along,  man,  and  let  me  die.'  He  leaned  back  again ; 
there  were  red  stars  flickering  before  his  eyes,  thousands 
of  little  red  stars.  '  My  wife  .  .  .  tell  her  .  .  .  Last 
thoughts  .  .  .  ' 

'  Oh,  it 's  not  as  bad  as  that,  sir,'  said  the  man,  with  a 
smile.  '  Bit  of  a  scratch,  that 's  all.  Be  in  the  saddle 
again  within  a  month,  I  '11  warrant.  Only  lie  still  a  bit, 
sir,  the  bandage  isn't  very  safe.' 

'  You  've  bandaged  me  yourself  ?  You  're  a  good 
chap,  Niederbichler.     Thanks.' 

He  lifted  one  hand,  but  it  seemed  to  hang  like  a  leaden 
weight  from  the  wrist. 

^  '  Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir.  Don't  catch  us  Haugwitzers 
leaving  our  officers  in  the  lurch — ^and  a  Viennese  at  that.' 
The  trumpeter  twisted  his  neat  brown  naoustache  with  a 
satisfied  air. 


90  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  I  can't  remember — ^what  it  was:  How  did  it  happen 
— the  whole  thing  ?  '  Krottenburg  stammered  out  the 
words  in  a  broken  whisper,  every  word  cost  him  a  twinge 
of  pain.  His  voice  seemed  glued  in  his  throat,  and  he 
could  hardly  draw  sufficient  breath  to  speak. 

'  It  was  a  beastly  job,  sir,  and  that 's  the  truth.' 
Niederbichler  shook  his  fist  towards  the  horizon;  the 
roar  of  the  guns  had  altogether  ceased.  '  The  swine  I 
.  .  .  They  cut  us  up — cleared  away  the  whole  lot  of  us — 
with  machine-guns  and  spreading  shot — there  isn't  ten 
men  come  out  of  it  alive.  I  was  riding  behind  the 
Captain  at  first — then  when  he  went  down,  I  swung  the 
old  chestnut  round  and  fell  in  behind  you,  sir.  Then  all 
of  a  sudden,  there  I  was  on  the  ground  and  half  silly,  as 
you  might  say.  Looked  around — after  the  squadron; 
they  'd  gone  on.  Then  you  come  down,  sir,  and  then, 
one  after  another,  falling  in  heaps.  Whole  squadron — 
just  wiped  out.  Then  I  got  up,  thinking  what  to  do — 
you  lymg  stiff  as  a  log  a  hundred  paces  on  ahead.  But 
I  reckoned  you  might  not  be  done  for  yet.  I  was  quick 
on  my  feet,  as  you  may  guess,  sir,  but  half  way  across, 
I  felt  my  helmet  bashed  in,  and  a  sort  of  hottish  feeling 
running  down  the  sides.  Couldn't  be  much  as  long  as 
it  felt  like  that,  I  reckoned,  and  on  I  went,  and  got  across 
to  you  all  right.  And,  just  as  I  thought,  when  I  ripped 
up  the  tunic  a  bit,  I  could  see  it  wasn't  more  than  a  bit 
of  a  scratch.     So  I  stayed  by.' 

'  Sure,  it 's  not  .  .  .  ? '  Krottenburg  questioned 
anxiously,  with  his  eyes. 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir.  Lungs,  that 's  all.  Heal  up  in  no 
time.  Well,  after  that  we  lay  there,  may  be  a  couple  of 
hours.  There  was  a  lot  of  the  horses  racing  about  at 
first,  and  one  or  two  of  the  men,  but  then  they  dropped, 
and  that  was  the  end.  They  stopped  shooting  after  a 
bit,  and  then  I  brought  you  along,  sir,  and  here  we  are.' 

'  Thanks,  Niederbichler.     I  shan't  forget.' 

'  Now  we  '11  lie  low  a  bit  till  it  gets  dark,  and  the 
Cossacks  can't  see  us,  and  then  we  '11  try  and  find  a 
village,  or  an  ambulance  or  something.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  91 

Krottenburg  felt  his  cheeks  burning,  and  there  was 
a  dull  sickly  feeling  in  his  chest.  Something  hot  welling 
up  continually  into  his  throat,  that  had  to  be  swallowed 
down  and  kept  burning  up  again.  Great  drops  of  sweat 
stood  out  on  his  forehead. 

The  sun  went  down,  and  blue  shadows  crept  over  the 
plain.  '  Better  be  getting  on  now,  sir,'  whispered  the 
trumpeter.  '  Gently,  lean  your  weight  on  me  all  you 
can.     That 's  it.     Hold  on  there  by  the  collar.' 

'  I  'm  not  a  lightweight,'  murmured  Krottenburg, 
smiling  weakly.  '  It 's  no  good — better  leave  me  where 
I  am.' 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it.  We  're  getting  on  famously.  You 
just  hang  on,  sir,  and  I  '11  manage  the  rest.' 

Krottenburg  felt  the  strong  arms  passed  under  his 
knees,  lifting  him  up  ;  then  the  hot  flood  welled  up  again 
in  his  throat,  he  strove  to  keep  it  back,  but  in  vain.  It 
pumped  forth  now  in  heavy  gulps,  a  gurgling,  dark  red 
froth  of  blood.  The  trumpeter  laid  his  master  gently 
down  by  the  edge  of  the  brook,  dipped  his  handkerchief 
in  the  water,  and  laid  It  gently  on  the  wounded  man's 
forehead.  Then  taking  his  water  bottle,  he  tried  to 
force  a  little  water  through  the  other's  teeth.  '  Don't 
swallow  it,  sir,  only  rinse  and  spit  it  out  again.  It 's 
nasty  cholera  stuff  the  water  here.' 

Krottenburg  murmured  something  confusedly,  and 
his  head  fell  back.  The  trumpeter  stood  up,  shaking 
his  sinewy  fists  at  the  distant  horizon  and  swore  aloud. 
Then  gently  he  lifted  the  unconscious  man,  dragged  him 
across  to  a  patch  of  grass,  and  laid  him  down.  '  'Tis  a 
heavy  weight  to  lift,'  he  gasped  to  himself,  wiping  the 
sweat  from  the  face,  all  caked  with  dust  and  blood. 
There  was  rage  in  his  heart  against  those  who  had 
brought  his  handsome  lieutenant  to  this. 

The  moon  had  risen,  flooding  the  place  with  a  milky 
light,  and,  striking  full  on  the  pale  face  of  the  wounded 
man,  he  lay  like  a  stricken  Knight  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
the  scion  of  a  noble  race,  thoroughbred  through  many 
generations  of  proud  blood.    It  showed  in  the  long, 


92  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

sinewy  limbs,  in  the  lines  of  his  clear-cut  features.  There 
was  no  striking  originality  in  the  face,  no  marked  indi- 
viduality, no  deviation  from  the  normal,  such  as  a  mix- 
ture of  blood  can  produce,  at  times  passing  it  on  insis- 
tently through  generations  as  if  by  witchcraft.  An 
unmistakable  touch  of  something  calculating  and  shrewd 
about  the  eyes  may  be  the  heritage  of  one  whose  dis- 
tant ancestor  so  far  forgot  his  duty  to  the  race  as  to 
choose  the  pretty  daughter  of  a  merchant  prince  for  his 
bride.  Or  a  trace  of  something  Jewish  about  the  nose 
and  mouth  may  be  engrafted  on  the  stock  by  one  who 
had  been  forced  to  an  alliance  that  saved  the  threatened 
fortunes  of  his  house.  ...  Or  even,  perhaps,  a  gleam 
of  something  exotic,  of  a  more  passionate,  more  creative 
intelligence,  may  light  the  brow,  a  trait  derived  from  the 
lapse  of  some  ancestress  who  had  listened  to  the  pleadings 
of  some  princely  adventurer,  some  poet,  artist,  singer — 
or  perhaps  even  a  man  of  letters. 

There  was  no  such  blemish  in  the  pale  face  that  looked 
up  unseeing  to  the  moon  above  the  copse.  Krottenburg 
was  handsome,  as  all  his  race  had  been  for  centuries. 
His  features  bore  the  stamp  of  ancient  lineage  carefully 
preserved,  through  a  line  of  ancestors  counting  brave, 
noble  and  distinguished  soldiers,  and  gracious,  honour- 
able ladies  who  had  not  learned  to  shrink  from  mother- 
hood ;  mothers  who  had  never  known  unfeudal  desires, 
who  had  given  and  maintained  the  beauty  that  had  ever 
been  the  distinguishing  mark  of  the  Krottenburgs.  And 
the  common  fate  of  the  men  of  this  fighting  race  seemed 
nearing  its  fulfilment  here.  It  was  rarely  that  a  Krotten- 
burg died  in  his  bed,  and  a  family  conclave  on  the  Day 
of  Judgment  would  call  them  up  from  many  distant 
lands.  From  Kuno,  earliest  of  that  ilk,  who  had  fallen  on 
the  banks  of  the  Marsch,  while  fighting  under  Rudolf  of 
Habsburg's  banner,  to  Freiherr  Wolfgang  von  Krotten- 
burg, father  of  the  present  Lieutenant,  who  had  died 
in  the  saddle  in  Bosnia,  there  were  few  who  had  not 
died  a  violent  death.  In  the  Holy  Land,  and  on  most 
of  the  battlefields  of  Europe,  from  Naples  to  the  Baltic, 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNEH  98 

and  from  Waterloo  to  Moscov,  lay  the  bones  of  Krotten- 
burgs  mouldering  in  the  earth. 

The  last  of  the  stock  opened  his  eyes.  *  Better  now,' 
he  whispered.  '  Much  better  now.  Think  I  could  walk 
a  little.' 

'  Never  think  of  it,  sir,  Just  lie  quiet  a  bit,  and  I  '11 
take  you  on  again.     There  's  a  village  just  across  there.' 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  approaching.  The 
dragoon  slipped  noiselessly  behind  a  tree,  and  stared 
out  into  the  darkness.  '  Good  luck — it 's  an  ambulance 
patrol.     Hey,  there,  this  way.' 

But  the  Red  Cross  heroes  had  taken  to  their  heels, 
evidently  suspecting  a  Cossack  trick.  An  hour  later  a 
stretcher  party  came  up,  making  straight  for  the  wood. 

'  Hey,  hallo  1 '  shouted  the  trumpeter. 

The  corporal  in  charge  of  the  party  flung  his  rifle  to 
his  shoulder,  and  hailed  back :  '  Who  goes  there  ? ' 

'  Austrians,  can't  you  hear.' 

'  The  password  ?  ' 

*  How  should  I  know  ?  I  'm  from  Vienna,  anyhow, 
and  here  's  my  lieutenant  woimded.' 

'  Right — stay  where  you  are.'  And  the  patrol — a 
detachment  of  the  Kaiser jagers — came  running  up. 

'  Are  you  from  the  dressing  station  ?     Where  is  it  ?  *^ 

'  We  '11  show  you.'  The  Knight  of  the  Holy  Grail 
was  laid  on  a  stretcher,  and  they  moved  off  through  the 
moonlight  to  a  village  close  by.  Here  the  last  scion  of 
the  Krottenburgs  was  put  to  bed,  and  soon  had  fallen 
into  a  restless  sleep. 


CHAPTER  VII 

'  You  have  now,  I  trust,  gained  some  idea  as  to  the 
theory  of  the  work  which  you  have  volunteered  to 
undertake.'  The  Professor,  a  stout  Httle  man  with  pince- 
nez,  glanced  round  the  operating  theatre,  which  was 
filled  with  an  audience  of  ladies  in  fashionable  attire. 
And  an  ironical  smile  played  round  his  hard  mouth  as 
he  went  on  :  '  We  have  yet  to  see  how  you  will  take  it 
in  practice.  I  warn  you,  there  is  nothing  in  the  least 
romantic  about  it.  The  work  of  a  field  hospital  is  filthy 
and  nauseating  ;  it  calls  for  skilful  hands  that  are  not 
afraid  of  touching  the  most  abominable  horrors,  and 
iron  nerves — the  olfactory  nerves  especially.' 

'  Oh,  how  nasty  ! '  whispered  a  fair  young  lady  to  her 
neighbour.  '  Really,  he  seems  to  take  a  delight  in  saying 
unpleasant  things.  No  tact,  no  consideration — vulgar 
little  man.' 

Her  companion,  a  brunette  with  an  air  of  superlative 
refinement,  shuddered  affectedly  in  her  thin  blouse. 
'  Yes,  indeed  !  I  positively  tremble  to  think  of  what  he 
may  say  next.  There  are  things  which  it  is  really  too 
painful  to  hear.' 

'  And  see — ^think  of  it,  Trudi — ^horrible ! ' 

The  two  women  edged  closer  in  to  each  other,  staring 
at  the  florid,  clumsy  creature  in  his  white  overall,  like 
young  birds  fascinated  by  a  cat. 

'  And  then  the  way  he  sniffs — Ugh,  nasty  little  man ! ' 

The  Professor  inhaled  the  scent  of  clean  human  bodies, 
cosmetics,  and  fine  linen,  as  if  analysing  it,  and  then 
exhaled  again  somewhat  noisily. 

'  You  have  come  here  to-day  bringing  with  you  all 
sorts  of  perfumes  from  your  wardrobes  and  cupboards  . . .' 

'  Cupboards — what  an  idea  ! '  gasped  the  fair  girl. 

94 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  95 

*  In  a  word, — ^the  air  you  are  accustomed  to  breathe. 
The  place  here  will  get  used  to  it,  no  doubt ;  you,  on 
your  part,  will  have  to  get  used  to  the  smell  of  blood  and 
matter  from  suppurating  sores — and  blood  and  matter 
are  very  different  from  roses  and  lilies  of  the  valley. 
They  stink,  my  dear  ladies,  they  stink  abominably.' 

There  was  an  uneasy  movement  among  the  audience. 
Thirty  hats  seemed  shivering  at  once,  and  there  was  a 
slight  shuffling  of  feet.  .  .  . 

But  the  brutal  frankness  of  the  surgeon  did  not  pro- 
duce the  same  effect  on  all.  A  tight-laced  baroness,  with 
distinctly  Jewish  features,  leaned  forward  from  the  third 
bench  towards  the  dreadful  person  below,  watching  him 
with  greedy  eyes  through  her  lorgnette.  A  terrible  man  ! 
She  would  go  through  fire  and  water — there  was  nothing 
she  would  not  do  for  such  a  man  I  Behind,  a  noble 
spinster,  whose  virtue  had  never  been  assailed  by  oppor- 
tunity, whispered  venomously  :  '  If  I  were  a  wounded 
man,  I  know  what  I  could  do.' 

'  What,  what  ?  '  asked  the  over-slender  Samaritan  at 
her  side,  with  little  rat -like  eyes  opened  wide. 

'  If  I  were  a  wounded  man  and  saw  her  coming,  I  'd 
sham  dead  till  she  had  gone.' 

'  If  that  would  save  you  !  I  do  believe  she  would  look 
at  a  dead  man  with  just  the  same.  ...  It 's  perfectly 
disgusting.'  The  two  old  maids  coughed  in  sympathy, 
and  sat  looking  stiffly  before  them.  In  the  meantime, 
two  covered  stretchers  had  been  brought  in. 

'  Exempla  trahunt — that  is  to  say,  we  learn  by  example. 
I  have  a  couple  of  specimens  for  you  to-day — two  samples 
of  human  wreckage  and  misery,  in  no  way  connected 
with  the  doings  of  war.  Close  in  a  little,  if  you  please  ; 
this  way.  You  will  now  have  an  opportunity  of  showing 
what  you  have  learnt.  These  two  patients  have  to  be 
washed  and  bandaged.'  His  voice  took  on  a  harsh, 
commanding  tone.  '  Come  closer,  if  you  please.  And 
bring  your  hearts  with  you,  not  your  smelling  bottles.' 
And  as  the  stream  of  fashionable  costumes  rustled  to- 
wards him,  he  went  on  ;   '  Those  of  you  who  do  not  feel 


96  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

able  to  stand  the  sight  and  smell  of  ugly  thmgs,  had 
better  leave  at  once,  and  for  good.  It  will  save  trouble 
for  all  concerned.' 

'  Really,'  murmured  the  fair  girl  with  a  little  stamp 
of  her  foot,  '  if  it  weren't  for  what  people  would  say,  I 
would  not  stay  a  moment  longer.  The  man  is  simply 
appallingly  indecent.' 

'  It 's  dreadful,'  agreed  her  friend.     '  But  think  of  the 

war.'     The  two  stepped  down  on  to  the  floor,  keeping 

well  to  the  back.     None  of  the  others  had  left  the  room  ; 

.  all  were  standing  waiting  to  see  what  was  to  come.     A 

thin  wave  of  perfume  rose  from  the  group  of  women 

:  standing  in  half  circle  round  the  surgeon  ;    very  faint 

it  seemed  beside  the  penetrating  smell  of  ether  and 

carbolic  from  the  little  table  close  by.     The  Professor 

made  a  sign,  and  one  of  the  stretchers  was  brought 

forward,  the  trained  nurses  standing  by  with  calm,  hard 

-features  under  their  white  hoods.     The  patient  was  a 

woman  of  about  fifty,  with  a  red  and  swollen  face  ;  her 

'>bloodshot  eyes  wandered  restlessly  over  the  unaccus- 

ttomed  scene. 

'  This  woman,'  began  the  Professor,  '  is  a  drunkard.' 
His  voice  had  grown  suddenly  gentle  as  His  who  said 
*  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me.'  '  A  hopeless 
case.  She  cannot  hear  what  we  are  saying — hearing 
almost  gone.     Take  away  the  sheet,  please.' 

A  nurse  lifted  the  sheet,  and  drew  up  the  woman's 
chemise.  The  emaciated  body,  with  breasts  hanging 
down  like  empty  bags,  was  stiff  with  dirt.  The  yellow 
skin  was  crusted  with  it.  On  the  right  hip  was  a  great 
boil,  white  at  the  edges,  and  with  matter  exuding. 

'  Look  at  this  please.  The  patient  had  a  fall  some 
weeks  ago,  probably  while  under  the  influence  of  drink. 
The  slight  wound  thus  caused  has  become  inflamed  by 
dirt,  and  finally  developed  into  this.  Blood  and  matter, 
you  perceive.  The  smell,  as  I  have  said,  is  unpleasant. 
But  it  is  a  favourite  perfume  of  war.' 

Already  the  women  were  almost  overpowered  by  the 
foul  stench  that  rose  from  this  wretched  human  sample 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  97 

of  disease  combined  with  poverty  and  filth.  They  stood 
in  silence  before  the  horror  they  were  called  upon  to  view. 
A  few  held  lace  handkerchiefs  to  their  noses  ;  two  had 
sat  down  on  the  front  bench,  trying  hard  not  to  faint. 

*  Cest  plies  fort  que  moi  I '  gasped  out  a  countess, 
famed  throughout  Vienna  as  a  leading  light  in  the 
arrangement  of  charity  bazaars.  ...  *  We  must  help 
where  we  can — ^but  this  .  .  .  No,  I  can't  stand  it.'  She 
fled  from  the  room,  holding  a  tiny  white  handkerchief 
to  her  face.     Ten  of  the  others  followed. 

'The  patient  must  first  be  washed.  The  bandaging 
afterwards.'  The  merciless  taskmaster  looked  round 
among  his  pupils.  '  Aha  !  thinning  out  already.  Good, 
very  good  ! ' 

"^  Two  nurses  lifted  the  woman  up  on  to  a  table  covered 
with  plate  glass.  Suddenly  she  screamed.  '  Don't  go 
hurting  me  now — no,  no — not  there  .  .  .  Put  me  down, 
ye  devils — put  me  down,  I  say,  ye  filthy  whores.' 

*We  're  not  going  to  hurt  you,  poor  soul  I '  said  the 
surgeon,  laying  a  hand  gently  on  the  thin,  draggled  hair. 
She  ceased  crying  out,  but  stared  wildly  about  her.  He 
bent  down  and  shouted  in  her  ear,  *  You  're  going  to 
be  washed — ^washed  and  bandaged.     That 's  all.' 

Washed — a  mercy  I     And  what  for  ?  ' 

To  make  you  well  again.' 

Ah,  thank  ye  kindly,  your  honour,  thank  ye  .  .  .  wash 
.  .  .  well,  well,  then  .  .  .  She  shook  her  head,  and 
murmured  indistinctly. 

The  Professor  looked  round  as  if  in  search  of  something, 
and  fixed  upon  the  fair  girl,  who  was  standing  at  the 
back,  sheltering  behind  the  broad  back  of  the  Hebrew 
baroness. 

*  You,  if  you  please,  young  lady.'  The  girl  stepped 
forward  hesitatingly.  He  had  picked  her  out  at  the  very 
first — the  brute. 

'  Smartly,  if  you  please.  We  have  no  time  to  waste. 
Put  on  an  overall — ^here.  Soap,  sponge,  and  carbolic. 
Now  begin.' 

The  girl  slipped  on  the  overall  with  a  shudder,  and  took 

o 


98  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

the  soap  and  sponge.    '  Where — where  am  I  to  ...  ' 
she  stammered, 

'  From  the  neck  downwards,  if  you  please.' 
With  an  effort  the  novice  fell  to  work,  pressing  the 
sponge  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  against  the  patient's 
breast.  But  as  the  lukewarm  water  found  its  way 
through  the  crusted  dirt,  the  sick  woman  began  cursing 
anew.  '  Take  it  away — ^take  it  away,  I  say.  Ah,  can't 
ye  leave  a  poor  woman  alone  ?  Leave  me  alone,  ye  white - 
faced  bitch — d'  ye  hear  ?  I  won't  have  it !  Ah,  get 
away,  ye  miserable  whore,  or  I  '11  tear  ye  to  bits,  I  say.' 
This  was  too  much  for  the  girl.  She  dropped  soap  and 
sponge,  and,  holding  her  hands  to  her  burning  cheeks,  fled 
from  the  room.  Her  neighbour  and  seven  other  ladies 
followed. 

'  Very  poor  people  often  talk  like  that,'  said  the  surgeon 
gently.  '  The  next  lady,  please  ?  Come — ^who  is  ready  ? ' 
There  was  a  rustle  of  indecision  among  the  indignant 
few  that  still  remained.  The  Jewish  lady  with  the 
prominent  bust  seemed  for  a  moment  to  be  considering 
whether  she  might  not  after  all  overcome  her  disgust 
for  the  ghastly  nakedness  that  lay  exposed  to  the  gaze 
of  culture  and  refinement.  But  possibly  she  lacked  the 
true  enthusiasm  of  the  Samaritan.  For  the  soul  in  this 
abundant  fleshly  casket  cried  continually  that  it  was  for 
his  sake — for  the  sake  of  that  strong,  commanding  brute 
of  a  man — she  would  gladly  have  shown  him  that  there 
was  nothing  she  would  not  do  at  his  bidding.  Yet  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  approach  the  table,  where  the 
sick  woman  lay,  now  staring  apathetically  around.  No 
— ^better  wait  for  the  next.  The  other  patient  was  a 
man — and  that  would  at  least  be  .  .  . 

'  Well  ? '  The  Professor  was  already  on  the  point 
of  dismissing  the  volunteer  angels  of  mercy  with  a  few 
ironical  words,  and  an  earnest  request  that  they  would 
not  trouble  to  come  again,  when  a  pale  young  woman 
stepped  forward.  '  If  you  please,  I  should  like  to  try.' 
'  Aha !  Lisl  Kjottenburg — really  very  plucky  of 
her,'  whispered  the  noble  spinster  in  the  background. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  09 

*  I  do  hope  though  .  .  .  they  say  actually  one  gets  .  .  . 
er — ^vermin,  you  know.' 

Baroness  Lisl  stepped  over  to  the  table,  and  laid  a 
hand  reassuringly  on  the  patient's  forehead.  *  Now  lie 
still,  there  's  a  dear.  It  won't  hurt,  you  know,  and  it 
will  do  you  good.'  The  woman's  eyes  wavered  uneasily, 
and  her  face  twitched,  as  if  she  were  about  to  protest 
again,  but  she  did  not  scream.  She  bore  the  touch  of 
soap  and  sponge  without  complaint,  and  murmured, 
'  Ay,  she  does  it  gently  with  her  soft  hands.'  At  last 
she  even  smiled,  and  when  Lisl  carefully  and  tenderly 
commenced  washing  the  sore,  she  did  not  shrink,  but 
murmured  again,  '  Soft  hands,  soft  hands,  a  blessed 
angel.  .  .  .' 

The  sun  peeped  through  the  high  windows,  shedding 
a  soft  light  over  the  sick  woman's  smiling  face.  '  Better 
now,  isn't  it  ?  '  said  Lisl. 

'Ay,  I  dare  say,'  murmured  the  other  faintly, '  had  to 
be  washed  sometime,  I  dare  say.  .  .  .' 

Meantime  the  lady  with  the  embonpoint  was  busy  with 
the  other  patient.  This  was  a  fitter,  who  had  had  the 
flesh  torn  from  his  back  by  a  machine.  He  was  in  great 
pain,  and  the  Jewess  touched  him  with  deft  fingers. 
The  Professor  smiled.  '  You  have  the  right  touch, 
ladies,  I  see.'  Then  turning  to  the  others  :  '  Those  who 
are  able  and  willing  to  go  on  with  this  may  come  again 
to-morrow  as  usual.  Those  who  are  not,  will  be  good 
enough  to  consider  their  course  of  instruction  at  an  end.' 
He  bowed  curtly,  and  left  the  room.  The  ladies  rustled 
out  offendedly. 

'  Charming  trio  they  will  make,'  sneered  the  noble 
spinster,  '  the  flower  of  Austrian  nobility,  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  peasant  vulgarity  of  the  new  school.  And 
then  a  stench  from  the  "Slums  .  .  .  the  language  of  the 
gutter.  .  .  .  No,  thank  you.     I  have  had  quite  enough.' 

'  Quite  enough  indeed,'  agreed  her  companion.  And 
the  would-be  angels  of  mercy,  as  they  stepped  out  into 
the  sunlight,  were  all  of  the  same  opinion.  Yet  most  of 
them  came  again  next  day  nevertheless.     Que  faire  ? 


100  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

It  was  a  part  of  one's  social  obligation  in  those  days. 
And  where  one  fell  out,  there  were  ten  to  take  her  place. 
As  gnats  about  a  lighthouse,  these  ladies  of  society 
fluttered  about  the  famous  surgeon,  and  the  more  brut- 
ally he  behaved,  the  more  they  felt  his  fascination. 
There  were,  it  is  true,  a  few  who  honestly  wished  to  be 
of  use,  and  these  the  choleric  little  man  singled  out  with 
unfailing  insight  from  the  rest.  Afterw^ards,  when  the 
wreckage  of  war  came  in  on  a  purple  wave,  they  did  good 
service — ^the  noblest  service,  as  only  women  can.  The 
others  did  what  they  could ;  they  might,  at  any  rate, 
comfort  the  more  romantically  wounded  with  their 
womanly  charms.  They  tripped  throvigh  the  hospital 
wards  on  the  look-out  for  such  casualties  as  did  not 
offend  the  aesthetic  senses ;  heroes  with  bandaged  heads, 
or  one  arm  in  a  sling,  were  what  they  mostly  sought. 
And  these  they  cured  by  laying^on  of  hands.  Cases 
attended  with  blood  and  matter  were  left  to  the  surgeon, 
with  his  staff  of  selected  assistants — the  women  who  had 
taken  up  the  work  for  its  own  sake,  and  whose  lot  it  was 
to  watch  knives  cutting  into  flesh,  to  hear  the  grate  of 
the  saw  upon  shattered  bones,  to  breathe  the  stench  of 
broken  humanity,  and  feel  the  cries  of  helpless  agony 
that  turns  men  into  beasts.  The  little  Professor  worked 
through  it  all,  day  and  night,  like  a  gentle  apostle, 
and  about  him,  like  a  halo,  the  white -clad  circle  of  his 
helpers. 

•  •••••• 

The  two  who  had  satisfactorily  endured  the  ordeal 
by  soap  and  water  came  out  together.  '  Isn't  he 
splendid  ?  '  exclaimed  the  Jewess  excitedly.  *  Did  you 
ever  see  such  a  man  ?  Unpolished — insolent — and  yet, 
Ohy  mon  Dieu,  quHl  est  ravissant !  One  could  work  for 
hours  under  him,  and  never  tire.  There  is  something 
fascinating  about  him — like  the  lash  of  a  whip  decked 
with  roses;  like  a  vampire  that  sucks  our  blood  before 
even  we  can  give  him  leave.     Don't  you  feel  the  same  ?  ' 

Baroness  Lisl  frowned  slightly.  The  morbid  enthusi- 
asm of  the  Jewess  disgusted  her.    '  I  can't  say  I  do/  she 


CAPTAm  ZU.LNER:  101 

replied.  *  He  is  v^ry  tough  in-  Ki$  jiunn^t,  as  you  say, 
and  he  is  extremely  clever.  But  I  can't  say  I  ever  found 
anything  fascinating  in  the  lash  of  a  whip,  or  a  vampire 
either — whatever  that  may  be.' 

*  My  dear  Baroness,  you  don't  suppose  I  meant  it 
literally.'  The  Jewess  gave  a  little  satisfied  laugh,  and 
swayed  her  body  sensuously  from  the  hips.  '  But  he  is 
a  man  one  cannot  get  away  from — ^at  least,  so  I  find.' 

'  I  wish  you  joy  of  him,  I  'm  sure.  As  far  as  I  'm 
concerned,  he  can  be  as  vulgar  as  he  likes,  if  he  '11  only 
send  me  to  the  front.' 

'  To — the — front  I  To  the  hospitals  ?  My  dear,  for 
a  lady  in  our  position,  it  is  quite  impossible. 

'  If  I  go,  it  will  be  possible,'  said  Lisl  with  dignity.] 

'  But  consider.  You  do  not  know.  There  are  women 
of  all  sorts  out  there — women,  you  know — ^well,  quite 
outside  all  decent  society.  And  then  the  accommoda- 
tion— I  am  told  they  often  have  to  sleep  in  the  same 
room  with  the  doctors.  In  the  same  room  I  And  no 
comfort  or  conveniences  of  any  sort.  Unbearable  1 
One  frock,  and  a  change  of  linen,  and  that  is  all.  And 
what  they  have  to  go  through  .  .  .  really,  for  one  of 
us — impossible  ! ' 

'  Anyhow,  I  am  going.  And  the  spider  creature  can 
say  what  he  likes.' 

'Spider?    Who?' 

*  Vampire,  then,  or  whatever  you  call  him.  I  can't 
stay  here  like  this  any  longer.' 

'  Poor  dear — I  understand.  But  even  if  you  do,  I  'm 
afraid  there  's  very  little  chance  of  your  finding  your 
husband.  I  mean,  of  course,  I  hope  you  won't  find  him 
at  all,  in  that  way.  So  what  is  the  use  of  going  off  on 
such  an  escapade  ?  ' 

Lisl  did  not  answer.  In  her  heart  she  felt  that  the 
other  was  right.  It  was  a  mad  idea.  How  was  she  to 
find  him  in  that  endless  chaos  ?  Still — once  at  the  front, 
no  matter  where,  she  would  feel  somehow  nearer.  And 
if — if  he  should  be  wounded,  it  would  be  easier  to  get 
to  him.    Her  delicate  eyebrows  drew  together  in  a 


resolute  firnHieS&..'^  Ske^mU^t-i-sli^, would.  Outside  the 
University  the  two  women  took  leave  of  each  other. 
The  Jewess  walked  up  the  steps  a  little  awkwardly — her 
voluminous  bulk  found  steps  a  little  trying. 

'  Our  new  hospital,  you  know.  I  am  endowing  two 
wards — sixty  beds.' 

Baroness  Lisl  watched  the  climbing  figure  with  some- 
thing of  envy.  How  much  easier  life  was  for  her  I  Cast- 
ing her  affection  upon  one  man  or  another  as  the  fancy 
took  her,  busied  with  charities,  and  eternally  satisfied 
with  the  sense  of  her  own  importance,  she  had  no  single 
passion  that  absorbed  her  v/hole  life  and  thought,  and 
made  all  other  things  seem  trifles.  She  had  not  to 
suffer  every  hour  at  the  thought  of  what  might  happen 
to  another.  No  lover  whom  it  would  be  as  death  to 
lose.  .  .  .  Yet  after  all,  was  she  not  rather  to  be  pitied 
for  that  very  lack  ?  How  empty  her  life  must  be,  with 
its  futile  dreams  of  some  morbid  ideal.  She  had  no  real 
friend,  no  one  cared  to  help  her  if  they  could  ;  she  was 
a  poor  ridiculous  creature,  and  dreadful  to  look  at. 
Something  she  must  have  to  keep  her  womanhood  from 
withering  to  nothing — and  so  she  drifted  from  one  pas- 
sion to  another,  from  one  self-imposed  unnecessary  task 
to  the  next.  Always  enthusiastic  about  something,  and 
always  appearing  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  others.  *  Poor 
thing  ! '  thought  Lisl.  After  all,  better  to  have  given  all 
one's  heart  to  one,  as  she  herself  had  done. 

Where  could  he  be  now  ?  Lisl  fell  to  dreaming  as 
she  walked  through  the  drowsy  streets,  down  the  Ring- 
strasse,  where  the  dust  hung  like  a  grey  frost  on  the  sun- 
scorched  planes.  She  walked  through  the  park,  where 
tired  workers  sat  nodding  on  the  seats — and  all  the  while 
she  was  thinking  :  Where  is  he  ?  It  was  a  week  since 
she  had  received  his  last  card  ;  only  a  few  lines  to  say 
they  had  crossed  the  frontier.  Moritzerl !  She  could  see 
him  now  .  .  .  could  hear  his  kindly  drawl  ...  if  only 
he  were  to  come  round  the  corner  now,  there  by  the  rose- 
bushes— and  she  could  run  to  meet  him,  as  in  the  old 
days,  no  more  than  that — it  would  be  far  more  wonderful 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  108 

now.  To  be  held  in  his  arms  again  .  .  .  she  flushed  at 
the  thought.  Moritzerl  1  .  .  .  Did  he  still  care  for  her  ? 
'  Loves  me,  loves  me  not.  .  .  .'  With  the  impulse  of  a 
school-girl  she  bent  down  to  look  for  a  daisy  in  the  grass 
at  the  edge  of  the  path,  but  there  was  none.  Did  he 
think  of  her  still  ?  And  suddenly  she  felt  an  overwhelm- 
ing sense  of  loneliness  ;  felt  herself  so  forsaken  and  miser- 
able that  she  could  have  crept  in  among  the  bushes  to 
sit  down  and  cry.  Tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  and 
slipped  between  her  trembling  lips.  If  any  one  were  to 
see  her  1  And  perhaps,  after  all,  he  did  not  think  about 
her  so  much  now.  Hastily  she  dabbed  the  tears  away 
and  glanced  round  ;  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  The 
clock  in  the  Rathhaus  tower  struck  one:  Perhaps  he  did 
not  think  so  much  about  her  now  ...  he  could  not,  of 
course.  He  was  riding  about  and  killing  people  I  Had 
Pelzl  remembered  his  promise,  she  wondered,  that 
evening  at  the  Grabencafe,  and  kept  her  Moritz  out  of 
danger  ?  Oh,  Heaven,  how  dreadful  it  all  was,  dreadful, 
dreadful !  If  ...  if  he  should.  .  .  .  No,  no,  dear  God, 
not  that,  anything  but  that.  Better  to  die  herself  at 
once.  With  a  sudden  twitch  she  broke  off  a  little  sprig 
from  a  bush — a  parched  up  little  twig  of  lilac.  No,  it 
could  not  be.  Not  that.  She  loved  him  so — it  could  not 
come  to  that.  Seven  warlike  centuries  had  seen  many 
ladies  of  Krottenburg  walking  thus  alone,  and  thinking 
the  same  thoughts.  Yet  many  of  them  had  been 
widowed  young.  But  none  had  ever  married  again. 
For  it  was  the  way  of  those  men  to  love  their  women  and 
hold  them  fast,  even  beyond  the  grave. 

Baroness  Lisl's  pretty  head  was  in  a  whirl  as  she  took 
her  way  home.  One  thought  clung  round  her  like  rich, 
dark-red  roses  :  I  love  him.  I  love  him.  And  one 
pierced  her  heart  as  with  thorns  :  Does  he  still  think  of 
me  ?  And  one  seemed  reaching  out  from  a  great  depth 
to  grasp  with  clammy  hands  at  her  throat :  if  he  should 
fall.  .* .  . 

Men  and  women  passed  her  as  she  walked,  and  seemed 


104  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

to  vanish  in  a  mist.  Many  turned  to  look  at  her,  but 
she  did  not  see.  With  hard,  strained  eyes  she  fought 
her  way  through  the  thorny  waste  of  her  distress,  no 
braver  than  any  woman  of  the  people.  The  war  had 
compassed  many  women's  hearts  about  with  those  same 
thorns  of  hope,  fear,  and  despair,  and  each  must  fight 
her  own  way  through,  be  she  princess  or  woman  of  the 
slums, — unless  she  were  of  the  fortunate  few  whose 
husbands  were  in  the  volunteer  motor  corps,  or  on  the 
General  Staff,  or  relegated  to  the  lines  of  communication, 
when,  of  course,  the  way  was  easier. 

At  the  back  of  the  Grecian  temple  set  apart  for  phrase- 
makers  and  political  jugglers,  where  the  people  of  Austria 
in  times  of  peace  allowed  their  foolish  and  unscrupulous 
representatives  to  mouth  out  proof  of  how  incapable 
they  were  of  governing  themselves — behind  this  splendid 
edifice  with  its  horse-breakers  and  quadrigse  and  bald- 
headed  Hellenic  sages,  stood  a  paper-boy,  shouting  out, 
'  Special  extra !     Great  battle  at  Lemberg.     Special.' 

'  Here,  boy.'  Lisl  tore  the  sheet,  still  damp  from  the 
press,  out  of  the  boy's  hand.  Lemberg — his  regiment 
was  there.  Once  more  the  passers-by  stopped  to  look  ; 
here  was  a  woman,  evidently  a  great  lady,  reading  the 
news  with  a  face  so  pale  and  drawn  with  pain  as  to 
attract  attention  in  the  mechanical  hurry  of  the  streets. 
There  was  little  in  the  printed  sheet  to  comfort  a  woman 
whose  heart  was  swelling  with  dread — ^the  usual  official 
communication,  with  its  customary  lofty  style,  behind 
which  the  augurs  of  a  later  time  learned  to  discern  the 
more  or  less  critical  situation  as  it  actually  appeared. 
Now  at  the  first,  these  official  exercises  in  prose  compo- 
sition were  received  in  good  faith  and  implicitly  be- 
lieved, albeit  they  left  the  reader  very  little  wiser  as 
to  the  true  state  of  things. 

Lisl  read  :  '  Our  troops  maintained  their  position 
generally.  .  .  .  The  Twentieth  Corps  succeeded  as  a 
whole  in  making  its  way  forward  to  the  line  Swynski- 
Potok.  .  .  .'  The  evacuation  of  the  capital,  it  appeared, 
was  a  strategical  manoeuvre  involving  no  actual  defeat. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  lOfl 

and  should  not  be  regarded  as  of  any  essential  import- 
ance. '  Heavy  fighting  at  Rawa  Ruska,  where,  on  the 
one  hand  .  .  .  while  on  the  other  hand  .  .  .'  and  so  on. 
This  last  formula  was  an  indispensable  ingredient  in  the 
composition  of  the  reports  issued  by  the  General  Staff. 

Lisl  read  on.  All  this  was  of  little  interest  to  her. 
He  was  not  there.  '  Heavy  losses  .  .  .  '  And  then  at 
the  bottom  of  the  page  :  '  North  of  Lemberg,  the  work 
of  reforming  the  lines  was  supported  in  a  very  essential 
degree  by  the  cavalry  .  .  .  fearlessly  brilliant  charge 
.  .  .  famous  in  history  .  .  .  undying  laurels.  .  .  .' 

The  hollow  phrases  danced  before  her  eyes.  The 
printed  letters  flowed  together  in  a  whirling  grey  mist ; 
there  was  a  rushing  in  her  ears  like  the  sound  of  the  sea 
afar  off.     He  ...  he  was  there.  .  .  . 

By  good  fortune  a  cab  was  passing  ;  she  hailed  it,  and 
stepped  in.     '  Heidelberggasse  4.' 

The  cool  air  on  her  face  as  she  drove  brought  her  to 
herself  again  ;  the  rushing  in  her  ears  had  ceased.  But 
she  felt  her  knees  unsteady.  '  I  have  grown  dreadfully 
nervous,'  she  thought  to  herself.  '  Think  if  I  had  fallen 
down  in  a  faint.*  If  only  she  did  not  care  for  him  so 
very  very  dearly !  .  .  .  Once  safely  back  in  her  lonely 
house,  she  flung  herself  down  on  a  sofa,  feeling  almost 
too  weak  to  move.  A  cavalry  charge  near  Lemberg  .  .  . 
she  w^ould  not  think  of  it,  she  must  do  something  .  .  . 
but  the  haunting  spirit  folio w^ed  her  as  she  moved  through 
the  rooms.  More  than  her  loneliness  and  desolation — 
fear,  and  an  inexplicable  horror  seemed  creeping  out  now 
from  every  corner. 

An  inquisitive  sunbeam  slipped  through  the  half- 
drawn  curtains  on  to  the  table  where  her  husband's 
gold  and  silver  cigar-cases  lay ;  another  played  goldenly 
about  the  mounts  of  his  riding-whips  hanging  on  the 
wall.  Baroness  Lisl  gave  way,  and  broke  into  a  storm 
of  weeping. 

•  •••••• 

Early  next  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  she  faced  the 
little  Professor.     He  was  frankly  astonished. 


106  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

*  But  you  are  very  early,  Baroness.  We  do  not  begin 
till  eleven.  Or  was  there  anything  you  wanted  to 
ask?' 

'  I  want  to  be  sent  to  a  field  hospital  with  the  Fifth 
Army,  Professor.     I  must.' 

The  surgeon  spread  out  his  hands  deprecatingly. 
'  Gently,  gently,  my  dear  Baroness.  You  are  not  look- 
ing well  at  all  to-day.  Like  an  Emmen thaler  cheese — 
or  rather,  like  Roquefort — that  is  to  say,  a  sickly  green. 
You  had  much  better  .  .  .' 

'  You  are  very  flattering.  Professor,  I  'm  sure.  But 
do  please  be  serious  for  a  moment.  I  promise  to  have 
cheeks  as  red  as  the  reddest  apple  once  I  get  there.  And 
you  can  manage  it  if  you  try,  I  know.  A  word  from  you, 
and  I  shall  be  with  my  .  .  .'  She  broke  off,  blushing. 
*  And  I  shall  be  there.  Dear  Professor,  you  will  help  me, 
won't  you  ?  '  She  smiled  humbly  down  upon  the  little 
man  ;  he  seemed  to  feel  uncomfortable. 

'  Well,  really,  you  know  .  .  .  if  it  had  been  the  other 
one  .  .  .  she  should  have  gone  at  once.  She  could 
stand  it — she  had  plenty  of — er,  strength — to  draw  upon. 
But  you.  .  .  .  Think  what  it  means.  Bad  food,  in- 
sufficient sleep,  and  uncongenial  companions.  .  .  .  And, 
honestly,  you  do  not  look  as  if  you  could  stand  it.'     f  ^ 

'  Thank  you,'  put  in  Lisl  hurriedly.  '  You  need  not 
tell  me  any  more  what  I  look  like.  Roquefort,  wasn't 
it?' 

'  I  'm  not  sure  we  ought  not  to  say  Gorgonzola.  And 
that  is  worse.  But  seriously — I  don't  think  you  could 
stand  it.  Sleeping  in  badly  ventilated  rooms  ...  or 
shifting  about  the  country  at  a  moment's  notice  ...  in 
a  word  .  .  .'  He  paused,  and  then  went  on  earnestly : 
'  I  shouldn't  like  to  think  of  you  in  all  that  mess.  The 
other  one  could  stand  it  better.  She  's  more — well, 
more  robust,  let  us  say.' 

Lisl  could  not  help  laughing.  '  You  are  not  very 
kind  to  "  the  other  one,"  as  you  call  her.  And  she  's 
madly  in  love  with  you,  you  know.' 

'  The  devil  1 '     The  Professor  was  positively  startled. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  107 

*  Well,  I  can't  help  it  if  she  is.'  i  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  Then  looking  sternly  at  Lisl,  he  went  on  : 
'  It  is  madness  for  you  to  think  of  going  to  the  front. 
And  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  pleasant  for  you  after  all 
to  find  your  husband  there.  Still,  since  you  are  evi- 
dently determined  to  worry  me  until  you  do  go  ' — his 
hard  mouth  curved  to  a  smile — '  there  is  a  hospital 
train  leaving  to-morrow,  with  a  detachment  of  the  Order 
of  the  Holy  Grail.  I  might  perhaps.  .  .  .' — a  well- 
spring  of  joy  bubbled  up  in  Lisl's  heart — '  I  might 
perhaps  write  to  Lieutenant  Count  Saarfeld,  and  ask 
him  to  take  you  along.' 

'  Mucki  Saarfeld  ?  But  what  has  he  to  do  with  the 
hospital  trains  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  he  is  in  charge.  Permanently,  I  understand. 
His  crusading  ancestors  would  hardly  have  cared  for 
such  work  at  such  a  time,  but — well,  tempora  mutantur — 
et  cetera.'' 

'  Mucki  I     Well,  anyhow,  that  will  be  company.' 

'  Then  you  really  intend  to  go  ?  ' 

'  Of  course  I  do.  And  thank  you,  thank  you  so  much, 
dear  Professor.'  IJsl  pressed  the  little  surgeon's  hand 
warmly. 

'  You  must  come  back  soon,  you  know.'  The  eyes 
behind  the  glittering  spectacles  rested  in  a  long  glance 
on  the  slight  figure.  Lisl's  cheeks  had  already  gained 
a  touch  of  colour.  *  Come  back  soon,  and  don't  bring 
your  husband  to  me.  He  won't  be  a  serious  case,  you 
know — a  scratch  on  the  little  finger  at  the  outside — and 
you  won't  need  me  for  that.  Good-bye.'  He  had 
spoken  with  such  unaccustomed  kindliness  that  Lisl 
looked  at  him  in  surprise.  And  suddenly,  before  he 
could  prevent  it,  she  pressed  a  little  kiss  on  his  ruddy 
forehead. 

'  That 's  for  the  prescription,  doctor,'  she  cried,  with  a 
little  happy  gleam  of  mischief  in  her  eyes.  It  was  the 
same  little  imp  that  had  lurked  there  in  the  old  days, 
when  many  men  had  lost  their  hearts  to  the  gay  little 
Countess  Erwangen.    To-day  it  was  shy,  it  is  true,  and 


108  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

ready  to  take  to  flight"'again  into  the  brown  depths  if  the 
bat-winged  spirit  of  fear  should  come  again. 

The  Professor  rubbed  his  forehead  with  a  smile,  and 
settled  his  glasses  on  his  nose.  '  I  shall  charge  it  on  the 
bill,  Baroness,  as  causing  serious  disturbance  during 
consultation.' 

•  •••••• 

Baroness  Lisl  rang  for  her  maid.  '  I  'm  going  to  the 
front,  Marie.'  The  middle-aged  woman,  who  had 
attended  her  with  discreet  correctness  hitherto,  per- 
mitted her  features  to  express  surprise. 

'  And  which  trunks  will  Frau  Baronin  wish  to  have 
packed  ?  ' 

'  The  little  handbag,  Marie,  that  is  all.' 

'  But ' — the  maid  opened  her  eyes  wide — '  the  little 
handbag — it  will  not  hold  one  dress.' 

'  I  shall  wear  my  grey  walking  dress.  Pack  a  little 
linen — that  is  all  I  shall  want.' 

'  But  the  travelling  case — the  toilet  sets.  .  .  .' 

'  Soap  box  and  toothbrush,  and  my  thick  lace  shoes.' 

*  And  no  more.     Frau  Baronin — surely  .  .  .' 

'  Never  mind  ;  do  as  I  say,  Marie.  I  am  not  going  to 
stay  at  hotels,  but  as  a  hospital  nurse,  at  the  front.' 

'  Du  lieber  Gott.^  .  .  .  The  woman  looked  aghast  at 
her  mistress.     *  And  I  am  not  to  go  at  all  ?  ' 

'  You  will  stay  and  look  after  the  house,  Marie.' 

'  Oh,  but  how  is  it  possible  ?  Who  is  to  dress  the 
Frau  Baronin  ...  to  arrange  the  hair.  ...  It  will  be 
terrible.' 

But  Marie  protested  in  vain.  The  little  handbag  was 
packed,  and  nothing  more.  Baroness  Lisl  fastened  the 
black  and  white  cap  of  a  nurse  over  the  dark  hair,  and 
drove  to  the  station,  leaving  her  faithful  helper  in  matters 
of  less  earnest  import  to  weep  alone. 

The  fine  brand-new  hospital  train  of  the  Order  of  the 
Holy  Grail  stood  ready  for  departure  by  the  platform. 
A  tall  ofi&cer  of  Uhlans  was  marching  up  and  down  like 
a  pendulum. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  109 

'  How  do  you  do,  Graf  Mucki.  Here  I  am,  if  you 
please,  with  all  my  goods  and  chattels.' 

The  over  tall  and  over  slender  young  man  seemed  to 
double  up  as  he  bent  over  the  hand  of  his  old  acquaint- 
ance. '  Delighted  to  see  you,  dear  Baroness.'  He 
glanced  at  the  miniature  travelling  bag.  '  That  really 
all  your  luggage  ?  Haha  ! '  Then,  with  a  certain  nasal 
dignity  of  tone,  as  if  receiving  a  deputation  :  '  It  is  indeed 
gratifying  to  see  ladies  from  our  own  circle  taking  an 
active  part  in  the  noble  task  of  healing  the  wounds  in- 
flicted by  the  war  .  .  .  their  delicate  touch  will  go  far 
to  assuage — ah,  to  assuage  .  .  .  ahem.' 

'  My  dear  Mucki,  for  Heaven's  sake  I — ^Where  did  you 
get  all  that  newspaper  nonsense  ?  Is  it  part  of  your 
service  equipment  ?  ' 

The  lanky  one  regarded  her  with  serious  eyes.  '  You 
did  not  allow  me  to  finish.  Baroness.  I  speak  officially, 
you  understand.  Let  me  see,  where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes — 
assuage — assuage  the  sufferings  of  our  wounded  heroes. 
May  you  ever  find  a  true  joy  in  the  work  which  you 
have  so  nobly  undertaken — and  the  Blessing  of  the  All- 
Highest  further  your  endeavours. — Rather  neat,  don't 
you  think  ?  ' 

'  Very,  I  'm  sure.  And  do  you  often  have  to  talk  like 
that  ?  ' 

*  A  good  deal.  I  've  got  up  four  little  speeches  :  one 
for  nurses,  one  for  doctors,  one  for  veteran  clubs,  and 
one  for  local  committees.  All  different,  of  course. 
Only  the  finish  the  same  :  Blessing  of  the  All-Highest. 
Makes  an  impression,  you  know,  and  people  seem  to 
like  it.' 

*  They  do,'  assented  Lisl,  thinking  with  some  appre- 
hension of  the  long  journey  before  her.  Graf  Mucki 
would,  she  foresaw,  be  intolerable.  She  decided  to  have 
a  headache  as  soon  as  she  conveniently  could. 

The  overgrown  Uhlan  rattled  on.  *  What  do  you 
think  of  my  train  ?  Looks  nice,  doesn't  it  ?  Makes  you 
almost  want  to  be  a  patient.  Like  me  to  show  you 
round  ?  ' 


110  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

They  walked  through  the  great  cars,  that  still  smelt  of 
varnish.  The  cots  were  arranged  in  tiers,  one  above  the 
other.  There  was  a  transportable  operating  room,  and 
a  separate  kitchen  car.  Everything  was  in  the  neatest 
order,  a  model  of  practical  convenience,  and  shiningly 
new. 

'  Here  are  my  quarters.  The  medicine  man  lives  next 
door,  down  at  the  other  end ;  a  plebeian  sort  of  chap, 
with  a  beard,  and  dirty  cuffs.  Nobody  else  on  the  train 
that  counts,  except  you  and  myself.  There  are  some 
nurses  joining  up  at  Krakau,  but  I  believe  they  are 
hardly  people  one  would  care  to  know.  Very  chic,  isn't 
it?' 

'  I  must  get  rid  of  him  soon,'  thought  Lisl  to  herself. 
They  were  seated  in  opposite  corners  as  the  train  glided 
out  of  the  station,  moving  easily  on  its  soft  springs. 
Graf  Mucki  sat  up.  '  Ah !  And  now  we  are  alone. 
Baroness — ^what  do  you  say  to  a  cigarette  ?  '  He  took 
out  his  gold  case  and  offered  it  with  an  air. 

Lisl  shook  her  head.  '  I  feel  my  wretched  headache 
coming  on,'  she  said.  '  But  tell  me,  Graf  Mucki,  how 
is  it  that  you  are  here  so  far  from  the  front,  among 
doctors  and  nurses  ?  Why  are  you  not  with  your 
regiment  ?  ' 

The  young  man's  prominent  blue  eyes  seemed  to  con- 
tract a  little. 

'  Oh,  my  health,  you  know.     Couldn't  stand  it.' 

*  But  you  're  quite  well,  aren't  you  ?  ' 

*  Well,  no,  not  quite.  Can't  sit  a  horse — strained  a 
sinew  somewhere  or  other.  So  what  could  I  do  ?  They 
put  me  on  to  this,  and  here  I  am.' 

Lisl  was  raging  inwardly.  Here  was  this  creature 
travelling  about  in  ease  and  comfort,  far  away  from  any 
front,  while  her  husband  was  riding  into  battle.  If  only 
he  could  have  been  here  instead !  Why  could  not  he 
have  strained  a  sinew — '  somewhere  or  ether.'  But  in 
her  heart  she  knew  it  was  impossible.  He  would  never 
have  stayed  behind.  There  had  never  been  a  Krotten- 
burg  who  stayed  behind  with  the  baggage  and  the  sick 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  111 

in  time  of  war.  Ill  they  might  be,  even  at  the  point  of 
death,  but  they  had  always  been  in  the  forefront  of 
things,  amid  the  clashing  of  arms,  not  in  the  rear  among 
the  women.  She  thought  of  that  Eberhard  Krotten- 
burg  of  whom  Moritz  had  told  her  one  day.  Before  the 
battle  of  Liitzen,  he  had  lain  in  a  burning  fever.  But 
when  the  attack  commenced,  he  had  bidden  his  men  lift 
him  to  his  saddle,  and  had  ridden  straight  into  the  forest 
of  lances  like  the  manly,  untiring  soldier  that  he  was. 
Not  until  after  would  he  let  them  carry  him  to  the  rear, 
and  he  had  died  the  next  day.  No — no  Krottenburg 
could  stay  behind.  She  knew  it,  and  the  knowledge 
spread  like  a  black  veil  over  her  hopes  and  dreams.  But 
she  could  not  help  a  shy,  secret  feeling  of  pride.  One 
of  those  men  was  hers — her  husband  ! 

'  And  so  you  follow  the  war  from  a  hospital  train, 
Graf  Mucki  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  they  must  have  some  one,  you  know,  to  repre- 
sent and  all  that.     That 's  where  we  come  in.' 

*  But  couldn't  the  doctors  do  that  just  as  well  ?  ' 

*  The  doctors  ?  My  dear  Baroness,  how  can  you  think 
of  such  a  thing  ?  Who  cares  for  a  doctor  ?  He  's  no 
authority,  no  distinction,  nothing  to  command  respect. 
No,  it  is  we  who  must  look  after  that  part  of  the  work. 
Wait  till  we  get  these  Red  Cross  Committees  turning  up 
at  the  stations  ;  you  shall  see  how  I  make  them  answer 
to  the  rein.' 

But  Lisl  had  had  enough  for  the  present.  *  I  'm 
afraid  I  must  rest  a  little,  Graf  Mucti.  My  head  's  so 
bad,  and  it  makes  it  worse  if  I  talk  too  much.' 

The  overgrown  one  took  the  hint.  '  Really  fright- 
fully sorry.  Baroness.  Should  so  have  liked  a  little  chat 
with  you.     Hope  you  '11  feel  better  soon.' 

He  rose,  doubled  up  as  he  touched  her  hand,  and  went 
out.  In  the  doorway  he  turned.  '  Like  me  to  fetch 
the  doctor  along  ?  ' 

'  No,  thanks  very  much.  It  '11  pass  off  in  a  little  if  I 
just  keep  quiet.' 

She  stretched  herself  on  the  plush-covered  seat  and 


112  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

tried  to  sleep.  But  sleep  would  not  come.  As  soon  as 
she  closed  her  eyes,  the  nameless  fear,  the  paralysing 
terror  of  something  about  to  happen  came  creeping  out 
from  every  corner.  In  vain  she  tried  again  and  again 
to  persuade  herself  that  nothing  had  happened  as  yet. 
She  would,  at  any  rate,  see  him  again  soon,  unharmed, 
or  at  the  worst  with  only  a  slight  wound.  But  in  spite 
of  all,  she  could  not  master  her  fear.  There  was  yet 
another  possibility — one  that  she  simply  dared  not  face. 
She  could  bear  up  bravely  enough  at  times  under  the 
thought  of  his  being  wounded,  but  that  other  thing  was 
more  than  she  could  endure.  And  what  use  to  bear  up 
bravely,  when  the  same  dreadful  thought  always  came 
at  the  end,  and  forced  her  to  break  down  after  all.  If 
only  he  were  with  her  once  more !  She  settled  herself 
in  a  comer  by  the  window,  and  watched  the  dull  flat 
landscape  drawing  past  behind  the  hurrying  telegraph 
poles.  She  fell  to  counting  them — one,  two,  three,  four 
.  .  .  and  then,  her  weariness  aiding,  at  the  hundred  and 
thirteenth,  she  leaned  back  against  the  cushions  and  slept. 

At  Oderberg  she  awoke,  and  went  out  into  the  corri- 
dor. The  sidings  were  packed  with  cattle  trucks,  and 
soldiers  looked  out  from  the  sliding  doors.  All  the  men 
were  bandaged  somewhere  ;  chiefly  arm,  foot,  or  head. 
It  was  a  convoy  of  wounded.  Ladies  and  gentlemen 
with  the  Red  Cross  badge  on  their  left  arms  hurried  about 
between  the  waggons,  handing  up  refreshments  to  the 
men — sandwiches,  lemonade,  sausages,  chocolate,  and 
cigarettes.  The  soldiers  laughed  and  jested,  all  appa- 
rently in  the  best  of  spirits. 

Baroness  Lisl  was  agreeably  surprised.  These  men 
had  come  from  the  front,  and  they  could  still  laugh  ? 
They  looked  well  enough,  too.  All  those  horrors  which 
the  Professor  had  described  when  talking  to  his  pupils, 
where  were  they  ?  Surely  it  could  not  be  as  bad  as  he 
had  said.  Perhaps  he  had  invented  every  word  of  it 
to  frighten  them.  And  there  stood  Graf  Mucki,  looking 
like  a  staff  officer  of  the  Salvation  Army,  surrounded  by 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  118 

a  crowd  of  women  and  girls,  all  listening  reverently  to 
his  *  little  speech  '  No.  4 — the  one  for  the  local  com- 
mittees. Lisl  looked  down  the  train  as  far  as  she  could 
see,  noting  the  smiling  faces  of  the  men  as  they  munched 
and  smoked.  Suppose  there  were  men  of  the  Haugwitz 
Dragoons  among  them.  But  these  were  only  infantry, 
men  of  the  Jager  Corps,  and  the  Landwehi*,  with  the 
trappings  of  many  different  regiments.  She  left  her 
carriage,  and  went  down  along  the  line  beside  the  train 
of  wounded.  In  the  fifth  truck  she  caught  sight  of  a 
man  in  the  familiar  orange  and  blue.  A  wave  of  hot 
blood  surged  through  her.  His  regiment !  They  had 
.  .  .  Oh,  Heavens,  they  had  been  there  after  all  1  The 
man  had  a  bandage  round  his  head,  and  his  left  hand  was 
tied  up.  She  called  up  to  him  :  '  I  beg  your  pardon  :  do 
you  happen  to  know  Lieutenant  Baron  Krottenburg  ?  ' 
'  Yes,  miss,  I  know  him  right  enough.' 

*  Is  he  wounded  ?  ' 

*  Can't  say.  I  got  knocked  out  at  the  start,  and  didn't 
see  what  happened  to  the  rest.' 

'  Where  was  he,  then  ?  ' 

'  Number  Five  squadron.  On  the  left,  they  were, 
when  we  charged.' 

Lisl  felt  as  if  she  must  faint,  and  controlled  herself 
with  an  effort.  Here,  in  front  of  all  the  soldiers — and  she 
a  Krottenburg  !  No  I  She  grasped  the  handle  of  the 
sliding  door,  and  asked  calmly  : 

'  Was  it  a  very  hard  fight  ?  ' 

'  Well,  I  should  say  so.  Charging  guns  is  no  joke. 
There  can't  be  many  of  us  left.  But  you  're  some  rela- 
tion, maybe  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Well,  I  dare  say  he  may  have  pulled  through  all  right, 
with  luck,'  said  the  man,  with  rough  sympathy. 

'  Thank  you  very  much.' 

Lisl  staggered  back  to  her  carriage,  and  managed  with 
an  effort  to  clamber  up  the  steps.  Her  knees  were 
sinking  under  her.  She  sank  down  in  her  corner  by  the 
window,  and  stared  out  into  the  twilight.    And  all 


114  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

through  that  night  the  same  thought  beat  mcessantly 
through  her  brain.  He  had  been  in^Lthe^ battle  after 
aUl 

•  *••••• 

Next  morning  they  arrived  at  Krakau,  and  four 
nurses  boarded  the  train,  chattering  noisily  in  PoUsh. 
They  were  fuil-breasted  women,  strong  and  healthy, 
but  not  very  refined.  Graf  Mueki  showed  them  into  a 
compartment  by  themselves.  Then  he  came  in  to  Lisl 
with  the  astounding  news  that  the  train  proceeded  no 
farther  than  Tarnow,  a  couple  of  hours'  run  from  Klrakau. 
Their  destination  was  properly  Grodek.  Beyond  Tar* 
now  the  line  was  no  longer  safe.  '  Epatant — astound- 
ing, really  1     When  our  armies  are  still  in  Lemberg  .  .  .' 

'  I  suppose  they  are  not  there  now,'  said  Lisl  wearily. 

*  Really,  an  awful  nuisance,  you  know.  And  I  had 
got  up  a  first-rate  little  speech  for  Grodek.  We  were  to 
have  filled  up  there  with  wounded,  you  know.' 

'  But  you  can  make  a  speech  in  Tarnow  just  as  well.' 

'  Oh  yes,  of  course.  Only  there  was  one  bit  about 
the  ancient  knightly  order  sending  angels  of  mercy  to  the 
heart  of  the  land,  and  about  the  stricken  heroes  of  the 
victorious  field.  Tarnow  isn't  the  heart  of  the  country, 
you  know,  being  just  on  the  frontier,  and  I  suppose  it 
won't  do  to  talk  about  a  victorious  field.  Have  to  alter 
the  whole  thing.' 

'  I  see.  Tell  me,  though,  are  there  any  field  hospitals 
at  Tarnow  ?  ' 

'  Oh  yes,  must  be.' 

Lisl  had  made  her  plans.  As  soon  as  they  arrived  at 
Tarnow,  she  would  get  hold  of  a  car,  and  drive  round  to 
all  the  hospitals.  If  she  did  not  find  him  in  any  of  them 
— oh,  if  only  he  might  not  be  there — she  would  drive  to 
the  headquarters  of  the  corps,  and  ask  and  ask  until  she 
knew  for  certain.  Yes,  that  was  the  best  way.  But 
things  turned  out  otherwise. 

The  railway  station  in  the  filthy  little  Jewish  town 
was  crowded  to  overflowing.  There  were  long  rows  of 
stretchers  in  the  waiting  rooms  ;  even  in  the  goods  sheds 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  115 

and  the  offices.  Slightly  wounded  men  hobbled  about 
in  the  confusion  among  a  crowd  of  peasants  and  towns- 
folk with  sacks  and  bundles  of  every  description.  These 
were  the  fugitives,  driven  from  their  farms  and  cottages, 
their  businesses  and  homes  ;  the  washed-up  wreckage  of 
the  war.  They  stumbled  over  one  another  in  a  frightened 
mob,  wandered  hither  and  thither  aimlessly,  or  sat 
staring  hopelessly  before  them.  Many  of  them  carried 
their  whole  worldly  goods  on  their  backs,  women  held 
their  terrified  children  by  the  hand.  And  in  all  these 
wearied,  tortured  faces  glowed  a  helpless  anger  against 
the  horror  that  had  made  them  homeless.  Their  thi-oats 
were  swollen  with  a  single  cry — a  cry  of  vengeance 
against  the  shameful  crime  of  war,  that  had  robbed 
them  of  their  homesteads  and  trampled  down  the  ground 
they  had  tilled.  The  curse  of  the  weak  and  innocent 
upon  those  who  had  brought  this  to  pass !  So  they 
stood,  huddled  together  like  frightened  beasts,  waiting 
for  the  train  to  carry  them  westward  into  safety. 

Into  this  scene  of  misery  the  hospital  train  drove  up, 
a  thing  loftily  imperturbable,  with  its  red  cross  on  the 
gleaming  sides  of  the  carriages.  Graf  Mucki  jumped  out 
and  made  his  little  speech  No.  1,  to  the  regimental  surgeon 
in  charge  of  the  sick  convoy.  He  introduced  the  doctor 
to  Baroness  Lisl — '  a  new  volunteer  nurse,  who  is  looking 
for  her  husband  in  one  of  the  field  hospitals.' 

The  doctor  politely  told  her  all  he  could.  His  convoy 
was  the  last  that  had  come  through  up  to  now,  bringing 
such  of  the  wounded  as  could  be  moved  to  the  interior. 
All  the  field  hospitals  of  the  Fifth  Army  had  been  evacu- 
ated save  one,  which  was  at  a  village  close  by.  All  the 
bad  cases  were  taken  there.  Lieutenant  Baron  Krotten- 
burg  would  certainly  be  there,  if  he  were  among  the 
wounded  who  had  been  brought  in.  And  Baroness 
Lisl  could,  if  she  wished,  conmience  work  there. 

Lisl  thanked  him.     '  I  think  I  '11  drive  out  at  once.' 

The  two  men  helped  her  up  into  a  little  peasant  cart 
without  springs — there  was  no  other  vehicle  to  be  had. 
As  for  a  motor  car,  to  think  of  such  a  thing  in  Tamow 


116  CAPTAIN  ZILLNEH 

would  be  ridiculous.  The  doctor  promised  to  telephone 
word  of  her  coming 

'  Gk)od-bye,  and  thanks  so  much.    Good-bye.' 

The  overgrown  Uhlan  doubled  up  for  the  last  time 
over  her  hand.  '  Good-bye,  Baroness,  and  good  luck. 
Kindest  regards  to  Moritz.  I  'm  only  sorry  you  're  not 
staying  with  us.' 

The  cart  rattled  off.  Speed  was  out  of  the  question, 
for  the  way  was  blocked  by  endless  transport  columns 
with  wretchedly  emaciated  horses.  The  animals  were 
mere  spectres,  so  thin  that  one  could  almost  see  through 
them  as  they  toiled  along  in  the  thick  dust  of  the  road. 
The  worst  of  them  were  led  by  filthy,  ragged  troopers, 
who  staggered  along  at  their  heads.  And  in  the  ditches 
by  the  roadside  lay  the  bodies  of  the  poor  beasts  who  had 
died  in  harness,  swollen  corpses  with  stiff  legs  sticking  up 
towards  the  sky,  like  milestones  on  the  road  of  death. 

The  villages  on  the  lines  of  communication  were  not 
so  bad.  There  were  numbers  of  officers  strolling  about, 
their  well-groomed  appearance  in  pleasant  contrast  to 
the  dirt  and  ugliness  around.  Carpet  soldiers  !  One  or 
two  of  them,  she  noticed,  wore  patent  leather  boots,  and 
some  were  talking  of  improvising  a  racecourse  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Every  village  had  its  share  of  these 
pleasant  surprises.  And  as  she  drove  through,  the  neatly 
shaved  and  carefully  dressed  dandies  would  stop  and 
cast  interested  glances  at  the  pretty  nurse — exactly  as 
on  the  promenade  in  Karntnerstrasse,  thought  Lisl. 

It  was  evening  when  the  cart  drew  up  before  the  village 
school,  now  doing  duty  as  a  hospital.  Lisl  felt  the  blood 
hammering  at  her  temples.  If  only  she  might  find  him 
here  1  She  ran  up  the  steps,  mentioned  her  name  to  the 
corporal  on  duty,  and  told  her  errand. 

*  I  believe  so,'  answered  the  man  in  answer  to  her 
inquiry.  '  I  will  get  the  list.'  He  fetched  a  register,  and 
began  turning  over  the  leaves.  '  Here — Krottenburg, 
Moritz  Freiherr  von.  A  noble,  yes.  Second  floor, 
number  14. 

'  Show  me  up,  if  you  please.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  117 

Half-way  up  a  sudden  dizziness  seized  her ;  she  had  to 
grasp  at  the  stair  rail  for  support.  The  corporal  was  at 
her  side  in  a  moment,  and  offered  his  arm. 

*  Thanks,  thanks.     I  can  manage  now.'    Lisl  bit  her 

lip. 

This  ridiculous  weakness  I  And  she  would  need  all 
her  strength.  .  .  .  The  corporal  offered  to  fetch  some 
water,  but  she  declined,  and  with  an  effort  pulled  her- 
self together.  Then,  like  a  queen,  with  lifted  forehead, 
she  walked  the  last  steps  of  the  hardest  road  she  had  ever 
yet  had  to  tread. 

'  Number  14 — ^here  it  is.' 

Once  more  she  felt  as  though  a  brutal  hand  had  struck 
at  the  sinews  of  her  knees.  Then  ...  a  dimly  lighted 
room,  with  two  rows  of  beds  ;  a  sickly  sweetish  smell 
.  .  .  she  glanced  anxiously  around,  and  there — there  in 
the  corner!  .  .  .' 

Lisl  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  holding  his  hand, 
kissing  and  kissing  it  again  and  again.  '  My  .  .  .  my 
.  .  .  my  husband  !  O  Moritzerl,  thank  (iod,  thank 
God ! ' 

'  There,  there ;  nothing  to  cry  for,  my  girl,'  said 
Moritz,  in  his  drawling  voice — his  voice  the  same  as 
ever.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  VIII 

It  was  on  the  verge  of  autumn.  A  brilliant  sunlight  lay 
like  cool  gold  over  the  land.  The  swallows  gathered  in 
twittering  flocks  on  their  way  to  the  southward,  and  white 
gossamer  threads  hung  in  the  air.  The  last  days  of  that 
red  summer  were  bright  and  lustrous  as  the  first  had 
been.  Save  for  the  cool  of  the  mornings  and  the  cold 
at  night,  the  lengthening  twilight  and  the  growing 
shadows,  the  year  might  have  seemed  at  a  standstill. 
The  war  had  spread  itself  over  the  harassed  land,  as  if 
resting  at  ease  for  a  space.  The  guns  were  silent ;  even 
the  garrulous  rifles  had  ceased  to  speak.  The  fighting 
now  was  in  the  west  and  north.  In  the  forest  lands, 
where  there  were  larger  villages  and  richer  towns,  the 
spirit  of  strife  could  better  slake  its  thirst  for  blood. 
There  was  virgin  soil  there,  fresh  and  abundant.  Still, 
the  war  only  looked  forth  drowsily,  and  made  no  move  ; 
as  if  still  heavy  with  the  fumes  of  that  last  August  feast. 
And  the  spirit  seemed  to  gasp  :  Rest,  rest  a  while,  and 
sleep  off  the  heaviness  in  the  many-coloured  glory  of  the 
autumn  days.  Then  to  the  feasting  anew,  to  richer 
draughts  of  blood  grown  stronger  for  the  respite.  So 
the  war  paused,  looking  out  towards  the  west  and  north. 

Re-establishment — an  ugly  word,  of  the  same  hypo- 
critical ring  as  that  other  evasion :  Rerformation.  The 
Austrian  forces,  painfully  retracing  their  steps,  had 
reached  the  river  that  winds  from  north  to  south, 
separating  the  western  territory,  not  yet  inyaded,  from 
the  middle  lands.  A  river  bend,  if  otherwise  suitable 
for  defence,  is  seized  upon  by  strategists;  it  was  here 
that  the  armies  .^fmally  halted  and  offered  a  resolute 
front  to  the  enemy.    The  Higher  Command  rained  dow^ 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  119 

orders  and  instructions  upon  the  jaded  men.  Entrench- 
ments everywhere.  The  position  to  be  made  impreg- 
nable.    No  giving  way.     Stand  fast  to  the  last  man. 

The  men  fell  to  work.  For  days  and  days  the  autumn 
sun  looked  down  on  grey  backs  digging  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  earth.  Mound  after  mound  was  cut  up  into  a 
patchwork  of  trenches,  in  rear  of  which  the  bronze 
mouths  of  the  guns  looked  out  from  carefully  chosen 
positions,  showing  no  more  than  gave  them  room  to 
speak.  The  Tiefenbachers  were  entrenched  on  a  fine 
ridge,  the  ground  in  front  sloping  gradually  down  with- 
out a  patch  of  cover  for  an  attacking  enemy.  Not  so 
much  as  a  kitten  could  approach  unobserved.  In  rear 
of  the  position  lay  a  wood,  and  some  sheltered  hollows, 
where  the  reserves  could  be  safely  posted,  with  plenty 
of  covered  ways  to  the  firing  line.  It  was  an  ideal 
position,  and  the  Tiefenbachers  ornamented  it  with 
machine-guns,  barbed  wire,  and  mines.  The  sun 
laughed  down  at  it  all  in  applause. 

The  young  Colonel,  upon  whom  the  whole  depended, 
did  not  laugh.  He  tripped  about  from  one  point  to 
another,  and  had  a  way  of  throwing  his  cloak  on  the 
ground  when  angry,  and  making  a  fuss  generally. 
Sometimes  he  would  shout  and  rave  ;  at  others,  he  would 
adopt  a  reproachful  tone,  as  of  one  most  undeservedly 
ill-used.  The  officer  in  charge  of  a  pioneer  detachment 
had  been  instructed  to  build  him  a  bomb-proof  dug-out 
with  a  covered  way  in  front.  The  work  had  been  done, 
but  not  to  the  Colonel's  satisfaction. 

'  My  orders  were,  sir,  I  believe,  to  construct  a  bomb- 
proof shelter  with  a  roof  one  metre  thick.  The  roof  is 
not  one  metre  thick.  I  have  measured  it  myself — 
ninety-six  centimetres.  Surely,  sir,  it  should  be  possible 
for  you  to  carry  out  my  orders  with  something  approach- 
ing accuracy.  No,  no — do  not  trouble  to  explain.  I 
want  no  explanation,  thank  you.' 

The  sun  looked  down  and  smiled,  recognising^an  old 
acquaintance.  Colonel  Peter  Prapora — of  course.  Just 
the  same  as  in  the  old  days,  when  he  had  sat  in  his  office 


120  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

writing  the  draft  of  a  report  with  a  Faber  No.  8.  The  sun 
remembered  him  well.  There  was  one  occasion  in  par- 
ticular when  he  had  been  furious  to  the  verge  of  despera- 
tion. A  new  clerk  had  laid  a  Faber  No.  1  in  the  place 
reserved  for  Faber  No.  8.  And  the  red  pencil  was  not 
where  it  should  have  been,  on  the  left  beside  the  ruler — 
the  fool  had  put  it  with  the  blue,  behind  the  indiarubber. 
And  such  was  the  rage  of  Colonel  Prapora  at  those  mis- 
demeanours, that  the  sun  had  been  constrained  to  with- 
draw behind  a  cloud. 

'  Is  that  how  you  keep  a  place  in  order,  you  idiot  ? '  he 
had  roared.  '  If  I  have  to  speak  to  you  once  more,  out 
you  go.  You  had  better  keep  your  wits  about  you  for 
the  future.  Get  me  a  couple  of  sausages,  and  look  sharp 
about  it.  .  .  .' 

Yes,  the  sun  knew  him  well.  How  charmingly  he 
played  the  piano,  and  what  a  favourite  he  was  with 
the  ladies,  who  found  his  handsome,  appealing  glance 
irresistible.  And  he  was  in  high  favour  with  his 
superiors,  being  essentially  an  adaptable  creature,  and 
invariably  holding  the  same  opinion  as  those  above  him. 
Hard  lines  on  the  Tiefenbachers,  thought  the  sun.  .  .  . 

Zillner  stood  chatting  with  Captain  Pfustermeyer  a 
little  in  rear  of  the  trenches.  In  front,  the  men  were 
digging  and  digging  in  the  loose  soil.  The  breastworks 
were  already  a  metre  thick. 

'  We  could  manage  better  without  him,  if  you  ask  me,' 
said  Pfustermeyer.  '  Why  on  earth  couldn't  they  let 
him  stay  at  home  in  Vienna,  and  stick  to  his  office  stool ! 
He  's  no  practical  use  here.' 

Zillner's  face  wore  an  expression  of  hard-won  resigna- 
tion. '  It  isn't  a  question  of  practical  utility,'  he  said. 
'  It 's  just  a  question  of  rank.  And  nobody  asks  how  a 
man  got  his  step,  however  plain  the  job  may  be.' 

'  You  're  right.  Oh,  they  're  a  nice  crowd  our  friends 
in  the  bottle  green.'  Pfustermeyer  snapped  his  fingers. 
*  A  beautiful  lot  of  neurasthenics.  I  've  seen  something 
o(  them  in  my  time.    All  orders  and  instructions  and 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  121 

big  words,  as  if  the  whole  thing  was  a  conjuring  trick. 
And  what  is  the  result  ?     The  summer  campaign  .  .  .' 

'  Well,  to  give  them  their  due,  the  odds  were  against 
us  there.  We  were  desperately  outnumbered  from  the 
first.' 

'  Outnumbered — yes.  But  it  needn't  have  landed  us 
in  that  infernal  mess.  Our  fellows  were  good  enough. 
But  what  can  they  do  when  the  bigwigs  come  down  with 
their  little  Kriegsspiel  plans  and  their  big  stock  phrases 
— ^thinking  they  can  win  the  war  by  out-of-date  hand- 
books. "  Ride  them  down — Advance  without  delay — 
Position  to  be  held  at  any  cost."  It 's  easy  enough  to  say, 
as  long  as  you  've  no  heart,  and  not  enough  brain  to  see 
the  criminal  folly  of  it  all.  They  can't  think  in  a  straight 
line.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  ' 

'  I  mean  that  they  think  in  curves  and  flourishes,  and 
seem  to  think  the  enemy  is  fool  enough  to  play  the  same 
game,  just  to  please  them.  And  when  he  doesn't,  there 
we  are — and  it 's  we  who  have  to  pay  for  it.' 

Zillner  smiled.  '  What  a  radical  you  're  getting, 
Pfustermeyer.' 

*  It 's  true,  anyway.  They  've  no  heart ;  it  doesn't 
take  long  to  find  that  out.  I  could  forgive  their  putting 
on  side  if  they  weren't  such  hopeless  fools.  For  that 's 
what  they  are.  The  Russians  were  three  to  one  when 
they  ordered  us  to  advance  "  without  delay,"  and  they 
didn't  even  know  it.' 

Zillner  made  no  answer,  but  his  brow  darkened.  It 
cut  him  to  the  heart,  yet  he  was  forced  to  admit  that  the 
other  was  right.  The  bitter  and  merciless  criticism  of 
their  leaders  pained  him,  yet  he  had  not  the  strength  to 
speak  in  their  defence.  He  would  gladly  have  proved 
his  old  comrade  in  the  wrong  ;  have  shown  that  circum- 
stances had  been  against  them  all  through,  and  that  no 
fault  lay  with  those  in  conmiand.  But  he  did  not  dare. 
He  had  seen  too  much  in  these  last  few  weeks,  had 
realised  too  keenly  the  true  state  of  things.  He  strove 
to  repress  the  thoughts  that  surged  up  in  his  mind  j  his 


122  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

soldierly  spirit  rebelled  against  the  admission,  and  the 
conflict  made  him  wretched.  He  had  tried  to  thrust  it 
all  aside,  but  in  vain.  He  had  the  accursed  gift  of  seeing 
through  to  the  heart  of  things,  behind  all  superficial 
gloss  ;  to  perceive  the  merciless  nakedness  of  truth  which 
others  would  not  see.  And  it  was  undermining  his 
faith.  That  was  the  thing  that  tortured  him  most  of  all. 
He  hated  the  sceptic  spirit  which  drove  him  constantly 
to  unmask,  unveil ;  he  would  gladly  have  surrendered 
himself  to  a  blind  acceptance  of  what  others  were  con- 
tent to  believe,  and  let  his  reason  sleep.  He  was  a 
soldier,  and  it  was  the  business  of  a  soldier  to  obey,  un- 
questioningly,  without  criticism.  He  envied  those  who. 
could  still  act  up  to  that  ideal.  But  for  himself  it  was 
no  longer  possible.  Something  within  him  was  always 
asking,  suggesting,  doubting.  .  .  . 

He  stood  in  silence,  gazing  thoughtfully  before  him. 
Pfustermeyer  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  '  No  good 
worrying  about  it,'  he  said  kindly.  '  There  it  is,  and 
we  must  make  the  best  of  it.' 

But  Zillner  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  '  No,' 
he  burst  out  with  sudden  passion.  '  It  is  intolerable. 
They  cannot  go  on  like  this.  It  must  be  the  end.  They 
have  sacrificed  thousands  already ;  sacrificed  them  to 
the  empty  theories  they  learned  at  school.  But  it  has 
taught  them  a  lesson.  They  will  be  more  careful  now. 
It  only  needs  a  little  thought,  a  little  judgment — ^and 
you  will  see,  it  will  come.'  His  steel-grey  eyes  flashed 
as  he  looked  over  towards  the  eastern  horizon.  '  There 
is  the  enemy — there  is  still  time  to  beat  him  back.  And 
we  shall  do  it.     We  must  do  it.' 

'  Heaven  grant  that  we  may,'  said  Pfustermeyer. 

Behind  them  came  the  sound  of  a  marching  song  ;  a 
detachment  was  moving  up  in  rear  of  the  position. 

'  Kaiser jager  I  Let 's  go  and  look,'  said  Pfustermeyer, 
grasping  Zillner's  arm.  A  Jager  regiment  from  one  of 
the  neighbouring  positions  was  marching  by ;  brown- 
tanned  peasant  lads  from  the  Tyrol,  most  of  them  tall 
and  heavily  built,  with  pipes  in  their  mouths,    Here  and 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  128 

there  the  slighter  figure  of  a  southerner  appeared  in 
marked  contrast  to  the  rest.  They  swung  past  with  an 
easy,  elastic  step  ;  dirty  grey  figures,  with  rough  beards 
framing  their  sturdy,  kindly  faces.  Many  of  them  had 
burnt  holes  in  their  tunics  round  the  camp  fires,  and 
there  were  not  a  few  who  showed  sign  of  weariness  or 
disease.  But  they  puffed  away  at  their  pipes,  and  sang 
lustily  as  if  glad  to  fancy  themselves  among  their 
native  hills. 

'  Good  luck  to  you,  lads,'  cried  Pfustermeyer,  as  they 
passed.  '  We  shall  soon  see  what  you  chamois  hunters 
can  do  with  another  sort  of  game.' 

'  Ja,  ja,'  they  shouted  back.  '  We  're  ready.'  And 
one  black-bearded  giant  cried,  '  Let  them  come,  the 
devils  !  Let  them  come,  and  we  '11  send  them  home  on 
crutches.'  He  grinned  and  pointed  to  his  cloak,  which 
was  decorated  with  Russian  badges  all  round  the  side. 

The  spirit  of  mountain  and  forest  seemed  to  animate 
these  men,  bright,  strong,  and  untroubled  as  birds  in 
song  .  .  .  With  firm  heavy  steps  they  tramped  along,  a 
compact  mass  of  sinewy  peasant  lads,  accepting  their 
task  with  a  childlike  faith,  and  puffing  in  imperturbable 
good -humour  at  their  pipes  through  stubbly-bearded 
lips.  A  hunch  of  bread  and  a  slice  of  meat  to  quiet  their 
stomachs  were  all  they  needed  to  keep  them  in  fighting 
trim.  They  were  the  same  stock  that  had  fought  in 
1808.  ^ 

^ '  Splendid  fellows  1 '  exclaimed  Zillner.  '  Nothing  seems 
to  trouble  them.  And  they  have  borne  the  brunt 
of  it  all  along.  Wherever  there  was  a  dangerous  gap 
to  be  filled,  it  was  they  who  were  sent  to  fill  it.  All 
through  the  retreat  it  was  the  same.  They  have  been 
terribly  cut  up.  But  they  are  still  the  same  :  splendid 
men  I  With  troops  like  that  we  could  do  anything,  if 
only  .  .  .' 

'^  '  If  only  the  army  consisted  of  Kaiser jager,  or  only  of 
Germans,  let  us  say,  and  if  our  diplomats  weren't  such 
infernal  asses,  and  our  leaders.  .  .  .  What  were  you 
going  to  say  ?  ' 


124  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  Pfustermeyer,  you  are  guessing  my  thoughts  to-day,' 
said  Zillner,  with  a  nervous  laugh.  '  But  I  swear  I  only 
think  them  against  my  will.  It  hurts  me  more  than  you 
think.  And,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  go  making  it 
worse  yourself.' 

Pfustermeyer  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  '  I 
don't  see  what  you  've  got  to  worry  about.  If  it 's  the 
truth,  why  try  to  shirk  it  ?  ' 

'  Truth  or  not,  I  can't  believe  it.  I  v/on't  believe  it. 
Once  you  do — ^\\^ell,  how  can  a  man  go  on  ?  If  I  really 
believed  things  were  as  you  say,  I  should  simply  go  to 
pieces.'     Zillner's  voice  was  full  of  earnest  appeal. 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  I  ought  to  have 
gone  to  pieces  long  ago,  at  that  rate.  But  I  haven't. 
On  the  contrary,  I  find  it  a  great  deal  more  comfortable 
to  look  things  in  the  face.' 

'  You  take  things  differently,  I  suppose.  But  with 
me — I  must  do  one  thing  or  the  other.  Either  believe 
in  it  all  unquestioningly  like  those  Tyrolese  lads,  or  .  .  .' 

'  Or  what  ?  ' 

'  Or  give  up.     Go  to  pieces.     That 's  all.' 

'  Shouldn't  do  that  if  I  were  you,'  said  Pfustermeyer, 
trying  with  kindly  intent  to  make  light  of  it.  But  a 
glance  at  his  friend's  face  showed  him  that  it  was  deadly 
earnest.  So,  laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  he  went  on  : 
'  You  mustn't,  you  know.' 

Major  Blagorski  was  waiting  for  them  up  on  the  ridge. 
He  was  not  in  the  best  of  tempers.  *  Gentlemen,  I  must 
request  you  to  attend  to  your  work.  This  is  not  a 
promenade,  where  you  can  walk  about  doing  nothing. 
You  are  expected  to  exercise  a  constant  supervision. 
The  Colonel  was  here  just  now,  and  had  several  com- 
plaints to  make.  One  thing  in  particular — a  man  in 
your  company.  Captain  Zillner,  has  been  guilty  of  a  gross 
breach  of  discipline,  in  speaking  disrespectfully  to  his 
commanding  officer.     Nechleba  is  his  name.' 

'  Nechleba  I  Surely,  sir,  there  must  be  some  mistake. 
He  is  one  of  my  best  men — a,  brave  fellow,  and  a  willing 
worker,' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  1^5 

*  I  must  beg  you  not  to  take  his  part,  if  you  please. 
This  man,  it  appears,  was  eating  at  his  work,  and  when 
the  Colonel  admonished  him,  he  had  the  impudence  to 
say  that  he  would  eat  while  he  worked  if  he  pleased. 
The  Colonel  has  ordered  him  to  be  put  under  close  arrest 
for  five  days.' 

'  Very  well,  sir.' 

*  And  then,  gentlemen,  really,  I  must  request  you  ' 
— the  old  soldier  turned  his  worn  face  from  one  to  the 
other  appealingly — '  not  to  make  matters  more  difficult 
for  me  than  they  are.  You  understand  the  position — 
we  have  a  great  deal  of  hardship  to  put  up  with,  but 
discipline  must  be  maintained.  The  new  Colonel.  .  .  . 
In  a  word,  I  trust  we  may  work  together  as  we  have 
done  up  to  now.  And  here  is  another  order.'  The  Major 
read  it  aloud.  ' "  From  the  General  Commanding. 
The  number  of  stragglers  has  of  late  greatly  increased. 
The  strictest  measures  must  be  taken  .  .  .  put  a  stop 
.  .  .  prevent  spreading  further  .  .  .  fullest  of  their 
powers."  H'm.  Fortunately,  this  hardly  concerns  us. 
The  regiment  is  practically  free  from  that  sort  of  things. 
It  is  mostly  the  Ruthenians,  and  a  lot  of  those  swine 
from  the  Czech  regiments.  Nevertheless,  I  must  beg 
you  to  maintain  the  strictest  discipline.  There  will  be 
drilling  in  the  afternoon,  as  usual.  The  Colonel  par- 
ticularly wishes  the  men  to  be  exercised  in  the  parade 
march,  saluting,  and  the  manual.  I  must  therefore 
request  you,  gentlemen,  to  assist  me  in  avoiding  any 
possible  cause  of  complaint.'  One  more  appealing  glance 
from  the  anxious  eyes,  and  the  officers  were  dismissed. 

'  There  you  see,'  whispered  Pfustermeyer,  with  a  wave 
of  the  hand.  *  Active  service — parade  march,  saluting, 
and  the  manual.' 

'  Bottle-green  idiot,'  exclaimed  Zillner,  and  hurried 
across  to  his  section.     '  Nechleba  ! ' 

The  grey -haired  infantryman  clambered  up  from  his 
trench.     '  Zu  Bcfehl,  Herr  Hauptmann  ! ' 

'  Insubordination — answering  the  Colonel — ^what  on 
earth  possessed  you,  man  ?    You,  a  good  soldier  ...  * 


126  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  Herr  Hauptmann — please — I  only  said  that  I  liked 
to  eat  when  I  was  at  work.    Not  a  word  more.' 

'  You  ought  not  to  have  said  that.  The  Colonel  has 
given  you  five  days  close  arrest.     You  understand  ?  ' 

'  Herr  Hauptmann — I  beg  pardon — I  can't  see 
what  .  .  .' 

'  That 's  enough.  Take  your  punishment  like  a  man. 
Corporal,  put  this  man  under  arrest.' 

The  man  was  led  away,  murmuring  as  in  a  dream  : 
'  Don't  understand  .  .  .  what  have  I  done.  .  .  .'  But 
there  was  an  undertone  of  anger  in  his  voice. 

And  Zillner's  tormenting  spirit  whispered  :  '  These 
are  the  creatures  that  are  sent  to  take  command  of  a 
regiment  in  the  field.  No  idea  of  anything  outside  office 
work,  utterly  incapable  of  handling  men.  They  would 
ruin  the  best  troops  in  the  world.'  In  vain  his  soldierly 
instinct  strove  to  beat  the  whisper  down  ;  it  was  there, 
and  would  be  heard. 

Days  came  and  went.  Peaceful  days,  but  laden  with 
busy  hours  of  nervous  haste.  The  position  must  be  in 
readiness  before  the  enemy  could  come  up.  And  it  was 
to  be  made  impregnable.  It  meant  working  and  work- 
ing without  pause  or  rest.  Day  and  night  the  spades 
rang  on  the  stones,  saws  whined  and  axes  rose  and  fell 
unceasingly.  Every  copse  and  clump  of  trees  in  front 
of  the  trenches  was  cut  down,  hundreds  of  bowed  grey 
figures  might  be  seen  dragging  the  trunks  away  bodily, 
back  to  the  lines,  to  shore  up  the  trenches  and  bomb- 
proof shelters.  The  long  row  of  hills  beside  the  river, 
running  in  a  graceful  curve  from  south  to  north,  had 
become  a  model  of  defensive  engineering.  There  was  a 
complete  fortress,  with  breastworks,  batteries,  covered 
ways,  and  communication  trenches.  Barbed  wire  en- 
tanglements were  spread  out  m  front,  pitfalls  were  dug 
and  filled  with  greedy  points,  and  mines  were  laid  in 
readiness  all  about.  Telephone  wires  stretched  away 
to  the  rear,  where  the  former  Brigadier  sat  like  a  spider 
in  his  web,  thoroughly  in  his  element.  He  had  been 
promoted  to  the  command  of  the  Feldkirch  Division, 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  12T 

and  sat  now  comfortably  installed  in  a  farmhouse  await- 
ing developments.  As  for  the  Russians,  let  them  come. 
He  had  only  to  press  a  button,  and  the  guns  would 
thunder,  the  rifles  spit  and  crackle.  A  word  of  command 
shouted  into  the  telephone  receiver,  and  from  all  sides 
came  an  obedient  flow  of  detailed  information.  He 
could  sit  there  at  the  rear,  in  touch  with  it  all.  Affec- 
tionately he  passed  his  hand  over  the  polished  cases  of 
the  microphones — the  last  word  in  modem  methods  of 
command.  There  in  front  v/as  the  fist  ready  to  strike, 
and  here  was  the  brain,  with  a  nerve  thread  between  the 
two.  He  rubbed  his  soft  white  hands  in  satisfaction. 
It  was  a  war  of  positions  now — the  only  sensible  way  of 
carrying  on  a  campaign.  In  the  open,  with  the  armies 
continually  on  the  move,  the  enemy  had  a  disconcerting 
way  of  doing  exactly  the  opposite  of  what  one  had  hoped. 
One  had  to  advance,  to  expose  oneself,  and  never  really 
knew  how  matters  stood  all  the  time.  Always  unex- 
pected developments  of  some  kind.  Here,  it  was 
different.  One  sat  surrounded  by  the  most  complete 
apparatus  for  giving  orders,  every  instrument  neatly 
labelled.  The  enemy  had  only  to  come,  and  then.  .  .  . 
But  the  enemy  did  not  come.  That  was  the  weak  point 
in  the  whole  thing.  The  enemy  kept  consistently  a  few 
days'  march  away,  merely  sending  a  few  light -armed 
detachments  of  Cossacks  out  to  keep  in  touch.  Day 
after  day  the  patrols  reported  that  there  was  no  sign  of 
any  infantry  to  be  seen,  far  or  near.  Really,  it  was  most 
inconsiderate  of  them  not  to  attack ;  one  had  but  to 
press  a  button,  and  they  would  be  crushed  ! 

Evenings  came  and  went.  Pale  evenings  with  a 
sense  of  weariness.  As  the  shadows  fell,  Zillner  felt 
himself  drawn  towards  the  dirty,  toil-worn  men  in  the 
trenches.  They  sat  cleaning  their  rifles,  mending  their 
clothes,  or  hunting  vermin  in  the  draughty  sheds  of  the 
cantonments,  burying  the  recollection  of  the  day  spent 
in  digging  like  moles.  There  they  sat,  chatting  together, 
smihng,  and  discussing  the  chances  of  peace.     Others 


128  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

were  loafing  about,  or  writing  the  regulation  postcards 
home.  They  were  glad  of  the  evening  rest.  The  post 
came  regularly,  with  a  breath  of  home  air  to  one  or 
another — affectionate,  helpless  words  from  a  mother ;  or 
passionate  outpourings  of  love,  a  sacrifice  of  blood  upon 
the  paper  altar,  full  of  longing  and  fire;  or  news  of 
wife  and  children.  And  the  dirty  hands  touched  the 
scraps  of  paper  reverently,  and  in  front  of  the  draughty 
sheds  men  fell  to  dreaming  sacred  dreams.  .  .  . 

Zillner  never  liked  to  disturb  his  men  as  they  sat  there 
occupied  with  their  simple  thoughts.  But  he  would 
often  go  over  to  them  as  they  sat  at  meals — the  best 
hour  of  a  soldier's  day.  There  was  a  constant  stream  of 
gifts  from  home,  '  Liebesgaben,^  with  cigars  and  sausages 
and  chocolate.  The  field  kitchens  also  worked  regularly 
now  in  these  peaceful  days  of  the  war  ;  twice  a  day,  at 
eleven  in  the  morning  and  six  in  the  afternoon,  the 
precious  rations  were  served  out.  In  the  evening,  when 
the  Tiefenbachers  were  drinking  their  sweetened  tea,  he 
felt  himself  most  welcome.  He  would  go  over  to  the 
sheds,  and  sit  down  among  the  men,  and  get  them  to  tell 
of  their  adventures  during  the  retreat,  of  comrades  who 
had  fallen,  or  what  they  knew  of  others  who  were  miss- 
ing. They  invariably  asked  him  when  the  war  would 
be  over.  Would  it  be  soon  ? — ^would  they  be  able  to  get 
home  in  time  for  Christmas  ?  And  Zillner  laughed  ;  he 
knew  no  more  than  they.  He  spoke  to  them  of  their 
country,  that  was  in  peril  and  looked  to  them  for  aid. 
And  that  was  a  sacred  thing — holier  than  Christmas  Eve. 
And  the  men  would  stare  at  him  then  with  wide  eyes. 
He  spoke  to  them  of  their  duty  as  soldiers,  a  duty  be- 
yond all  thought  of  life  and  death.  The  enemy  must  be 
driven  out — that  must  come  first  of  all.  And  the  men 
nodded — they  had  not  really  meant  it,  about  wanting 
to  be  home  for  Christmas.  Even  if  they  did  not  get 
home  in  time  they  must  drive  him  out.  Their  eyes  grew 
eager,  and  they  clenched  their  grimy  fists. 

Zillner  was  happy  at  such  times  ;  he  felt  his  faith 
once  more  glowing  warmly  within.    There  was  no  doubt 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  129 

lurking  in  his  soul,  no  dark  presentiment  to  make  him 
desperate.  They  would  win,  after  all.  His  heart  clung 
to  these  poor  ignorant  men  ;  only  peasants  and  workers 
from  the  depths,  but  they  understood  what  was  asked 
of  them.  To  such  men,  one  must  speak  from  the  heart, 
not  in  the  snarling  command  of  a  superior  officer. 

There  were  but  few  of  his  colleagues  who  understood 
this.  They  drove  their  men  like  a  stupid  flock  of  sullen 
beasts  ;  only  now  and  again  would  one  of  the  junior 
officers  speak  to  them  kindly  and  frankly  —  their 
superiors  never.  The  flowers  of  elaborate  composition 
which  appeared  in  the  pompous  official  orders  were  but 
empty  words,  copied  by  dull  brains  from  antiquated 
official  tradition.  It  sounded  well,  perhaps,  to  call  the 
men  '  Laurel-crowned  heroes,'  after  they  had  been  driven 
with  curses  and  abuse  to  slaughter.  But  the  men 
themselves  could  not  live  on  that  nauseating  brew,  and 
felt  no  gratitude  to  those  who  offered  it. 

Those  evenings,  so  full  of  honest  life,  were  much  to 
Zillner.  In  the  '  Palazzo,'  a  wretched  hovel  where  he 
and  his  three  lieutenants  had  their  quarters,  there  would 
be  supper  waiting  on  his  return.  Prager,  who  had  under- 
taken the  duties  of  mess  steward  and  cook,  proved  a 
wonderful  acquisition.  His  general  apathy  entirely 
disappeared  when  once  he  was  relieved  from  his  military 
duties,  and  occupied  in  the  composition  of  a  menu.  He 
contrived  to  produce  all  sorts  of  delicacies  in  the  peaceful 
days  in  camp.  There  were  Vienna  pancakes,  omelettes, 
pastry,  and  even  now  and  again  wine. 

And  the  four  of  them  would  sit  round  in  a  circle,  each 
occupied  with  his  own  affairs.  Little  Andrei  hated  the 
inaction ;  his  young  heart  was  greedy  to  be  up  and  doing. 
The  man  of  law  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  writing  to 
his  sweetheart — or  possibly  there  were  several  of  them. 
The  Czech  was  not  a  companionable  fellow  ;  he  would 
sit  there  in  silence,  almost  as  if  lying  in  wait  for  something 
the  others  might  say  or  do.  Often,  when  the  Hungarian's 
eagerness  for  action  found  vent  in  a  burst  of  ardent, 

I 


130  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

stammering  words,  Zillner  fancied  he  could  see  a  smile 
of  delicate  scorn  glide  over  Spicka's  face.  But  he  gave 
no  grounds  for  complaint,  and  carried  out  his  work 
conscientiously.  A  nuisance,  thought  Zillner.  He  has 
a  bad  influence  on  the  men,  and  if  he  would  only  break 
out  in  some  way,  I  might  get  rid  of  him.  But  as  it  is  .  .  . 
The  evenings  passed  quietly  enough.  The  young  men 
dreamed  their  dreams,  the  Czech  was  busy  with  his  own 
dark  thoughts,  and  Zillner' s  mind  seemed  ever  tunnelling 
into  the  black  wall  of  the  future.  If  only  he  could  come 
out  into  the  light  again.     Into  the  light !  .  .  . 

One  afternoon  the  first  of  the  reinforcements  came  in. 
The  Tiefenbachers  were  glad  to  see  them,  for  these  war- 
time recruits,  with  their  new  uniforms,  brought  a  breath 
of  home  into  the  camp.  The  new  arrivals  looked  about 
them  with  curious  faces,  that  were  still  cleanly  shaven  ; 
they  came  rattling  bravely  into  the  lines,  men  and  kit 
all  beautifully  clean. 

*  Look  nice,  don't  they  ?  '  grunted  one  grey  and  mud- 
stained  spademan  to  his  neighbour.  '  Lice  '11  be  afraid 
to  touch  them.' 

'  Not  they,'  answered  the  other.  '  They  '11  be  just  as 
bad  as  the  rest  of  us  in  a  week.' 

'  Say  a  fortnight,'  suggested  the  first  speaker  reluc- 
tantly. 

'  A  fortnight,  then.     It 's  all  the  same.' 

The  two  grey  moles  had  knocked  off  work,  for  the  half- 
battalion  was  drawn  up  in  front  of  His  Majesty  the 
Colonel.  The  officer  commanding  saluted  with  his  sword. 
'  I  have  the  honour  to  report,  sir.  Honorary  Major  von 
Rosselsprung,  at  your  service,  with  512  men.  All 
eager  to  be  led  against  the  foe.  I  have  the  honour  to 
place  myself  under  your  command.' 

The  Colonel  stared,  and  the  staff  officers  glanced  at 
each  other.  Who  on  earth  was  this  extraordinary 
Major  von  Rosselsprung,  and  what  were  they  to  do  with 
him? 

'Don  Quixote  as  a  volunteer,'  whispered  Pfuster- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  181 

meyer.  And  indeed  it  might  have  been  the  Knight 
of  La  Mancha  himself,  even  to  the  lance,  which  a 
bugler,  standing  behind  him,  held  stiffly  pointing  up- 
wards. Von  Rosselsprung  was  standing  in  his  stirrups,  a 
withered  figure,  with  a  fierce  expression  of  countenance  ; 
like  a  weather-worn  relief  from  some  sepulchre  of  the 
days  of  chivalry.  Small  beady  eyes  under  heavy  bushy 
brows,  and  a  high,  sharp  ridge  of  nose  between  ;  a  thin 
little  moustache,  dyed  black,  stuck  up  aggressively  above 
the  withered  mouth.  A  telescope  and  a  prismatic  bin- 
ocular were  slung  crosswise  across  his  chest,  in  addi- 
tion to  which  he  wore  a  compass,  a  big  vacuum  flask, 
and  a  small  signal  horn  such  as  are  used  by  the  guards 
of  continental  trains.  At  every  movement,  the  various 
articles  of  equipment  set  up  a  cheerful  rattle  and  creak. 

'  Perambulating  arsenal,'  whispered  Pfustermeyer, 
with  a  grin. 

The  heavy-armed  warrior  had  lowered  his  sabre,  and 
now  proceeded  :  '  If  you  wish  it,  Colonel,  my  men  can 
be  allotted  to  their  positions  at  once.  We  are  all  burn- 
ing to  .  .  .' 

'  Thanks,  thanks.  If  you  would  kindly  bring  up  the 
rear  company  in  line  with  the  first.  I  have  a  few  words 
to  say  to  the  men.' 

*  Very  well,  sir.'  Don  Quixote  made  some  mysterious 
gestures  with  his  sword  towards  the  rear,  but  no  one 
moved.  Finding  himself  constrained  to  issue  his  com- 
mands by  word  of  mouth,  he  called  out  hoarsely,  '  Cap- 
tain Crlenjak — Captain  Crlenjak !  Bring  your  company 
— this  way.' 

A  little  mannikin  on  a  fat  but  willing  little  horse 
extricated  himself  with  some  difficulty  from  the  column, 
waved  his  arms  about,  and  shouted  what  was  apparently 
an  order,  though  not  to  be  found  in  any  drill  book.  The 
spectators  looked  on  interestedly  at  the  exhibition  that 
followed.  '  Hi,  you  fellows — ^you  at  the  back  there — 
move  up  a  little.  No,  this  way,  up  behind  me.  That's 
it.  Now  straight  on.  No,  you  idiots — yes,  that's 
the  way.    Keep  your  dressing,  can't  you?    Up  in  a 


132  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

straight  line.  That 's  better.'  By  dint  of  such  exhorta- 
tion he  managed  to  bring  up  his  men  into  Une  with 
the  rest.  Then  excitedly,  '  That  '11  do.  Stop  !  Halt ! ' 
And  the  manoeuvre  was  completed. 

Captain  Crlenjak  was  a  man  about  sixty,  with  a  short, 
bristly  moustache,  and  a  dry,  shrivelled  face,  that  wore 
an  expression  of  extreme  embarrassment. 

The  Colonel  looked  the  man  over  for  a  moment,  and 
cleared  his  throat.  '  Soldiers,'  he  began,  '  I  bid  you 
heartily  welcome,  as — as  defenders  of  our  beloved 
country.  Many  of  your  comrades  are  no  more.  .  .  .' 
His  voice  broke  at  this,  and  he  gulped  out  anew,  '  Are 
no  more,'  with  intense  emotion.  The  eyes  of  the 
Adjutant  behind  him  were  watering  already.  '  Soldiers, 
you  will  do  your  duty.  I  know  it.  And  I  trust  you  to 
the  full  .  .  .  Pig  !  How  dare  you  stand  picking  your  nose, 
while  I  am  speaking  ?  By  Heaven,  picking  his  nose  !  .  . . 
Do  you  want  to  stand  with  your  hands  tied  behind  you, 
you  swine  ?  .  .  .  And  in  a  word,  I  bid  you  welcome, 
and  call  to  mind  the  ancient  motto  of  the  regiment : 
"  Allzeyt  fuer  des  Reiches  Herrlichheyty  ' 

'  That  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  goes  to  one's  heart,' 
whispered  Pfustermeyer  to  Zillner. 

'  And  now,  dismiss.  The  Adjutant  will  tell  off  the 
men.' 

The  Colonel  marched  up  and  down,  with  rapid  steps, 
his  hands  behind  his  back.  Then  he  called  up  the  staff 
and  the  company  commanders. 

'  How  long  have  you  been  on  the  retired  list.  Major  ?  ' 

'  Fifteen  years,  sir,'  said  the  martial  one,  '  but  I 
assure  you  .  .  .' 

'  Really,  now,  really.     And  you,  er — Captain  .  .  .' 

'  Captain  Crlenjak,  sir,  at  your  service.     Twenty.' 

'  H'm.  Yes.  Very  well,  then.  Major — the  second 
battalion,  if  you  please,  and  Captain  Crlenjak  the 
first.' 

Major  Blagorski  saluted.  '  Company  Three  is  vacant, 
sir.' 

'  Very  well,  that  will  do.     Thank  you,  gentlemen.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  ISB 

And  the  Colonel  walked  off,  his  head  bent,  and  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back. 

The  man  of  war  clapped  his  heels  together  with  a 
rattle  of  spurs,  and  introduced  himself  to  his  brother 
ofl&cers :  '  Von  Rosselsprung.'  Then,  sniffing  like  a 
trained  hound  at  scent,  he  swung  his  head  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  trenches,  and  barked  out :  '  First-rate 
position — excellent.     And  when  are  we  to  .  .  .' 

'  Oh,  we  're  ready  enough,'  said  Pfustermeyer.  '  But 
the  other  party  isn't,  it  seems.' 

'  Not  ready  ?  You  will  see,  gentlemen,  in  two  days 
from  now — in  two  days,  I  say,  we  shall  have  him  by  the 
throat.  I  remember  at  Maglaj,  in  '78,  precisely  the  same 
thing  happened.  I  was  standing  smoking  a  cigarette, 
and  thinking  of  my  wife — fine  woman  she  was  in  those 
days,  splendid  woman — and  then  suddenly — Pst !    Gone.' 

'  Never  trust  a  woman,'  said  Pfustermeyer  senten- 
tiously. 

'Eh?  What?  The  cigarette,  I  mean.  Some 
measly  vagabond  of  a  Bosnian  insurgent  shot  it  clean 
out  of  my  mouth.  And,  would  you  believe  it,  the 
fellow  .  .  .' 

'  Wait  a  bit.  I  have  an  idea,'  broke  in  Pfustermeyer. 
'  You  can  tell  the  story  better  sitting  down.  What  do 
you  say  to  a  little  something  extra  this  evening — in 
honour  of  our  new  comrade  in  arms  ?  I  've  some  claret 
that 's  not  half  bad — a  little  I  managed  to  smuggle  into 
this  temperance  hotel — never  mind  how.' 

'  Bravo,  comrade  !  I  'm  with  you,'  croaked  out  Don 
Quixote. 

'  Bravo  I '  echoed  the  mannikin.  '  Very  happy,  I  'm 
sure.' 

'  Very  well  then,  you  are  hereby  invited.  At  my 
quarters,  at  eight  o'clock.  An  omelette,  a  hunch  of 
sausage,  with  a  cockroach  or  so  by  way  of  desert.  At 
eight  then,  all  of  us.'  And  the  heavyweight  captain 
lounged  off  to  make  his  preparations. 

It  was  a  pleasant  little  feast.    Pfustermeyer's  jovial 


134  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

spirits  seemed  to  shed  light  and  warmth  over  the  rough 
quarters,  and  infected  even  the  taciturn  Grill,  whose  face 
lit  now  and  again  with  an  affable  smile.  The  Voslauer 
sparkled  in  the  glasses,  and  spread  a  cheerful  glow  through 
the  veins.  A  touch  of  colour  appeared  in  the  sallow 
cheeks  of  the  new  Major,  and  his  beady  eyes  twinkled. 
.  .  .  '  Yes,  gentlemen,  at  Maglaj — and  at  Doboj,  even 
worse — only  a  double  woollen  belt  saved  me  from  death. 
It  was  like  this.  I  was  in  the  thick  of  the  scrimmage — 
it  was  hand-to-hand  fighting  then.  And  suddenly  a 
big  Turk  shouts  out '' Allahi !''  And  on  the  "hi"— 
Huit ! — he  lunged  out,  thinking  to  slit  up  my  stomach 
with  his  yataghan.  But  you  can  see  for  yourselves — not 
a  scratch.  It  was  the  woollen  belt  that  saved  me.  Two 
layers,  extra  thick — a  present  from  my  wife.  A  fine 
woman  she  was  in  those  days !  And  it  warded  off  the 
cut,  and  here  I  am.  Since  then,  I  sleep  in  my  clothes 
when  I  'm  on  active  service.     You  never  know.'         j^^ 

'  It 's  perfectly  true,'  whispered  Crlenjak  in  Zillner's 
ear.  *  He  sleeps  in  his  clothes  every  night.  Even  at 
Krakau,  the  first  night  we  arrived.  And  we  were  safe 
enough  there.     But  he  does  ...  I  don't  know  .  .  /     ,  ^ 

'  And  the  great  lance.  Major,  the  bugler  was  carrying 
to-day — a  trophy,  no  doubt,  from  one  of  your  recent 
engagements  ?  '  Grill  asked  the  question  with  a  de- 
ceptively innocent  air. 

'  Oh,  that  ?  Yes,  a  genuine  Cossack  lance.  That  is 
to  say,  it  might  have  been.  But,  to  tell  the  truth,  it 
belonged  to  a  Honved  ^  hussar.' 

'  Honved — Hungarians  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  it  was  like  this.  We  were  riding  up  a  little 
rise,  reconnoitring,  you  understand.  Then  suddenly  I 
caught  sight  of  a  troop  of  horsemen,  armed  with  lances. 
Aha,  thought  I,  now  we  've  got  them !  I  got  the  bat- 
talion under  cover,  waiting  for  them  to  come  up.  And 
was  just  about  to  give  the  word — ^and  then  I  saw  who 
they  were.' 

'  It 's  perfectly  true,'  whispered  the  mannikin  again. 
^  -Hbnt;ed  =  Hungarian  militia. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  135 

*  He  was  just  going  to  fire  on  them.  ...  I  don't  know 
what  he  was  thinking  of.  .  .  .' 

The  others  laughed,  but  with  some  embarrassment. 
The  fire-eating  veteran  proceeded  to  explain  the  en- 
counter with  the  Honved  to  Major  Blagorski,  and,  as  he 
talked,  the  resemblance  to  Don  Quixote  was  apparent 
to  all.  It  was  fortunate  that  he  had  got  hold  of  a  Sancho 
Panza  in  the  person  of  his  adjutant.  Captain  Jovo 
Crlenjak  would  no  doubt  manage  to  keep  him  out  of 
serious  mischief.     Still  .  .  . 

Zillner  glanced  at  Grill,  and  noticed  that  he  was  staring 
at  the  hero  with  intense  disgust.  The  little  captain  was 
absorbed  in  his  own  meditations. 

'  How  came  they  to  send  you  to  the  front  again  after 
all  that  time  ?  '  asked  Zillner  sympathetically,  turning  to 
the  worn  little  mannikin.  '  Twenty  years,  I  think  you 
said  ? ' 

Crlenjak  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  Oh,  well,  I  volun- 
teered, of  course,  in  a  way.  We  were  asked  to,  you  know. 
And  so  .  .  .  you  understand.  I  said  to  myself  :  "Jovo, 
you  've  been  struck  off  once  as  unfit  for  further  service, 
even  with  the  Landwehr — they  can  only  put  you  on  lines 
of  communication,  at  the  worst.  And  then,  all  of  a 
sudden,  I  don't  know  .  .  .' 

'  Extraordinary  1     Are  you  fit — otherwise,  I  mean  ? ' 

'  No,  I  can't  say  I  am.  Gout.  In  wet  weather  I  can 
hardly  walk  a  step.  I  don't  know  how.  ...  It 's  the 
same  with  the  Major  himself.' 

'  And  you  find  it  strange,  I  dare  say,  after  twenty 
years  ?     Things  must  have  changed  a  good  deal.' 

'  Yes,  of  course.  The  drill 's  all  different.  I  don't 
even  know  the  words  of  command.  I  was  six  years  with 
the  Supplies  before  they  pensioned  me,  and  after  that 
I  kept  a  cafe  in  Warasdin.  Still,  now  I  am  here,  I 
dare  say  I  shall  get  along  somehow.  You  shall  see,  I  '11 
do  all  I  can.' 

The  last  words  were  spoken  harshly,  defiantly.  Zill- 
ner felt  a  sudden  warmth  of  sympathy  for  the  little  man, 
and  a  dull  anger  against  those  who  had  sent  him  there. 


136  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

This  poor  broken  relic  in  the  trenches  !  And  the  offices 
in  Vienna,  the  safe  and  easy  posts  far  in  the  rear,  were 
filled  with  men  sound  in  wind  and  limb.  Hundreds  of 
them,  comfortably  installed  in  berths  as  far  removed 
from  danger  as  in  peace  time,  leaving  the  heaviest 
burdens  to  poor  superannuated  creatures  invalided 
years  ago  as  unfit  for  further  service.  Truly  a  strange 
thing,  this  country  of  theirs,  the  country  that  called  for 
sacrifices  from  all,  yet  where  such  gulfs  were  fixed.  .  .  . 

The  mannikin  emptied  his  glass  with  a  thoughtful  air, 
then  he  smiled,  and  suddenly  became  confidential. 

'  Look  you,  brother,  there  's  another  thing  I  ought  to 
tell  you.  The  Major — he  's  always  fancying  things. 
The  enemy,  you  know.  Sees  them  everywhere — right 
up  in  our  own  lines,  ever  so  far  from  the  front.  Out- 
posts and  sentries  all  the  way  along — the  men  were 
simply  done  up  at  last.  Every  cavalry  patrol  we  came 
across,  he  wanted  to  fire  on  them.  And  his  leggings — 
did  you  notice  them  ? — he  's  done  them  all  over  with 
grey.     It 's  perfectly  true.  .  .  .' 

Zillner  laughed,  and  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  Don 
Quixote.  It  would  be  awkward  if  he  should  chance  to 
overhear  their  remarks  about  his  previous  adventures 
in  the  field.  But  there  was  no  need  for  anxiety.  The 
veteran  was  sitting  in  a  haze  of  cigarette  smoke,  earnestly 
engaged  with  Major  Blagorski  and  Pfustermeyer  in 
criticising  the  tactics  of  the  Russians. 

'  And  then,'  went  on  Crlenjak,  '  every  village  we  came 
to  he  smelt  treachery.  The  priests  especially — I  don't 
know  why,  I  'm  sure — he  always  looked  them  up  at  the 
start.' 

'  There 's  no  harm  in  doing  that,'  said  Zillner.  '  Better 
be  on  the  safe  side  with  them,  anyway.  If  I  had  my 
way,  I  'd  lock  up  the  whole  lot  of  them  at  once.'  And 
he  recounted  some  of  his  own  experiences  with  those 
servants  of  the  Lord. 

'  Ay,  they  are  beasts,  brother — beasts,  they  are.' 

'  On  the  whole,  yes.  Hypocrites  nearly  every  one 
of  them,  ready  to  serve  either  side  as  suits  them  best.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  137 

Zillner's  honest  eyes  flashed.  '  They  should  be  turned 
out,  the  lot  of  them,  after  the  war — to  Petrograd  or  to 
Rome.     Christ  would  not  mind,  I  know.' 

'  You  think  so,  brother  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  .  .  .' 
The  mannikin  stared  at  Zillner  with  frightened  eyes. 

But  it  was  getting  late.  The  candles  flickered  sleepily 
in  the  thick  haze  of  smoke.  Pfustermeyer  rapped  on  the 
table,  and  cried  with  a  ringing  voice  :  '  Now  then. 
One  last  glass  for  our  new  comrades  in  arms.  .  .  . 
Prosit  r 

The  man  of  war  was  not  quite  steady  on  his  legs. 
'  Bravo.  Br-ravo,'  he  stammered.  '  Soldiers  all  .  .  • 
to  the  last  drop  of  blood.  .  .  .  Soldiers  .  .  .' 

The  party  broke  up.  Pfustermeyer  followed  von 
Rosselsprung  and  the  little  captain  to  their  quarters. 
Zillner  and  Grill  went  off  together.  '  Madness  I '  ex- 
claimed the  taciturn  one,  looking  up  at  the  cold  starlit 
sky.  '  To  send  that  civilian  travesty  to  the  front.  Old 
men  in  their  second  childhood.  It  would  be  simply  a 
massacre,  if  they  were  ever  called  upon  to  act  inde- 
pendently.    A  massacre ! ' 

Zillner  looked  up  in  surprise.  He  had  never  heard 
Grill  speak  with  such  warmth  before.  '  It  is  pitiful,'  he 
said  softly,  as  if  to  himself,  '  to  see  these  poor  old  men, 
whose  day  is  over.  We  may  laugh  at  them,  but  there  is 
something  touching  in  it  after  all.  Here  they  come  with 
their  poor  tiny  candle,  to  guide  the  country  on  its  dark 
road.  And  the  light  burns  more  brightly  than  the  showy 
arc  lamps  of  the  overwise.  .  .  .' 

'  Nonsense,'  said  Grill  coldly.  '  As  if  that  could  make 
any  difference.' 

Then  days  full  of  a  long-drawn  tense  anticipation. 
Anxious  hours  slow-dropping  in  succession  :  we  are 
ready,  ready,  ready  1 

Those  accursed  Russians — would  they  never  come  ? 
The  line  of  hills  stood  like  a  row  of  giants  armed  for 
battle,  ready  to  meet  all  comers.  The  muddy  grey 
moles  had  dug  and  tunnelled  into  the  body  of  the  green 


138  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

# 
earth,  and  sat  now  huddled  up  in  their  holes,  staring 
at  the  sky,  awaiting  the  first  flight  of  the  hateful 
yellow  birds  that  heralded  the  storm  of  shot  and  shell. 
There  was  no  romantic  eagerness  for  battle,  none  of  the 
delirious  wordy  fever  with  which  war  correspondents  in 
search  of  copy  filled  the  mouths  of  their  imagined  heroes. 
No  hunger  for  the  fight,  1:10  thirst  for  blood.  These 
artisans  and  peasants  who  toiled  so  uncomplainingly 
were  never  heard  to  revel  in  sounding  words.  But  a 
watchful  impatience  was  everywhere  apparent.  It  had 
been  hard  work,  all  this  time,  with  pick  and  shovel,  axe 
and  saw  ;  and  they  were  anxious  to  see  how  it  would 
stand  the  strain  ;  to  test  their  work,  and  see  that  it  was 
sound.  As  a  man  who  has  built  a  house  to  be  proof 
against  thieves  will  find  a  keen  pleasure  in  seeing  them 
break  their  tools  on  its  bolts  and  bars,  and  hear  them 
file  and  hammer  in  vain,  so  the  men  lay  in  their  armoured 
caves  and  waited  for  the  enemy  to  try  his  strength. 
*  March  them  down  ' — ^that  was  no  longer  possible. 
But  they  might  still,  at  any  rate,  '  Stand  fast  to  the  last 
man.' 

The  Brigadier,  now  Division  Commander,  grew  more 
nervous  every  day.  He  had  examined  the  positions, 
measured  the  thickness  of  the  defences  with  a  foot-rule, 
and  found  them  to  his  satisfaction.  The  system  of 
trenches  was  complete,  fulfilling  all  requirements,  and 
answering  equally  well  to  theory  and  empirical  test. 
Everything  here  was  in  order,  only  the  enemy  was 
lacking.  Patrol  after  patrol  was  sent  out  and  recon- 
noitring detachments  made  long  marches ;  he  even 
sought  to  force  the  Russians  to  attack  by  a  series  of 
reconnaissances  in  force.  But  all  in  vain.  The  enemy 
kept  his  infantry  three  days'  march  away,  and  showed 
no  sign  of  advancing  to  attack.  Then  the  great  man 
began  to  lose  courage :  it  was  logically  inevitable  that, 
if  the  enemy  did  not  attack  him,  then  he  must  attack 
the  enemy,  since  the  enemy  was  in  their  territory.  But 
that  meant  abandoning  all  their  elaborate  defences  here, 
and  moving  out  once  more  to  the  peril  and  uncertainty 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  139 

of  warfare  in  the  open.  It  would  be  too  exasperating. 
But,  after  all,  perhaps.  .  .  .  There  had  been  a  faint 
sound  of  guns  from  the  northward  during  the  past  few 
days.  He  would  dearly  have  liked  to  finish  the  war  from 
his  comfortable  farmhouse,  with  his  telephone  and  micro- 
phones, and  all  his  trusty  apparatus. 

And  gradually  the  Tiefenbachers  themselves  began  to 
show  signs  of  uneasiness.  The  men  were  beginning  to 
feel  that  their  easy  days  would  soon  be  at  an  end — and 
just  as  they  were  settling  down  so  comfortably.  The 
hardest  part  of  the  work  was  over,  and  there  were 
amusements  to  while  away  the  time.  Meals,  served  up 
steaming  hot  at  regular  hours,  letters  every  day,  and  in 
the  intervals,  they  could  fall  back  upon  the  pleasantly 
thrilling  war  of  extermination  against  vermin,  in  which 
some  had  attained  a  surprising  degree  of  skill.  In  a 
word  the  troops  were  beginning  to  succumb  to  the 
demoralising  effects  of  culture  and  refinement,  and  were 
in  no  mood  for  further  exertions.  If  they  were  sent  out 
on  the  march  again,  there  would  be  no  more  easy  days 
of  idling  in  camp,  and  no  more  parcels  of  comforts  from 
home.  The  Tiefenbachers  scratched  their  heads  appre- 
hensively, and  looked  up  at  the  sky,  where  now  only 
little  white  fleecy  clouds  were  to  be  seen,  and  never  so 
much  as  a  glimpse  of  an  aeroplane  with  the  black-eyed 
circles  under  its  wings.  Only  Major  Don  Quixote  was 
filled  with  a  violent  thirst  for  action.  He  kept  his  glass 
continually  fixed  on  the  horizon,  and  dreamed  grand 
dreams  of  the  Order  of  Maria  Theresa. 

One  afternoon  ICarl  Albert  Kraft  came  marching  by 
Zillner's  section,  with  a  patrol  and  five  Cossack  prisoners. 
Zillner  ran  out  to  meet  him.  *  Fancy  coming  across  you 
again,'  he  cried.     '  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  I  've  buried  some  illusions — from  the  artistic 
point  of  view.     Otherwise,  I  manage  pretty  well.' 

'  Illusions — in  what  way  ?  ' 
Si^ '  Oh,  well,  it 's  rather  more  sordid  and  miserable  than 
I  thought.    I  had  expected  something  more  inspiring ; 
more  of  the  sublime.    But  that  was  long  ago.' 


140  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

*  It 's  not  so  long  since  you  were  wildly  enthusiastic 
yourself  about  the  war.' 

'  Maybe.  But  I  've  seen  a  good  deal  since  then.  As 
it  is — well,  as  an  artist,  I've  found  war  disappointing. 
As  a  soldier,  I  believe  in  it,  and  I  think  we  're  going  to 
win.' 

'Why?' 

'  Well,  I  can't  imagine  our  being  beaten  by  these 
animals,'  he  pointed  towards  the  batch  of  prisoners, '  and 
their  drivers.  After  all,  the  more  cultured  race  must  win 
in  the  end.' 

Zillner  smiled.     '  But  suppose  we  don't  ?  ' 

'  Then — But  no,  it  is  impossible.  We  must,'  said  the 
painter  earnestly. 

Zillner  grasped  his  friend's  hand.  '  Yes,  yes — '  he 
stammered.  '  We  must.  That 's  what  I  tell  myself,  day 
after  day,  night  after  night.  We  must  win.  It  would 
be  horrible  if  ...  I  'm  ever  so  glad  you  say  the  same. 
One  must  have  faith — it 's  the  only  way,'  he  added 
excitedly. 

'  Yes,  one  must  have  faith,'  said  Karl  Albert  grimly. 
'  And  never  lose  it.     A  soldier  cannot  live  without.' 

'  Ay,  and  never  lose  it,'  repeated  Zillner  slowly.  '  But 
if  one  lost  it  after  all — ^what  then  ?  ' 

'  It 's  hopeless  to  talk  of  that.  One  must  cling  to 
one's  faith  like  a  drowning  man  to  a  plank.  To  lose  it 
is  death.  But  there  is  no  danger  of  that.  You  will 
see.'  I 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' 

'  I  mean  we  shall  beat  them  before  very  long. 
What  do  you  think  of  my  little  haul  ?  ' 

'  First-rate.  Out  with  six  men  and  bring  home  five 
prisoners.     Congratulate  you.     How  did  you  get  them  ? ' 

'  Shot  their  horses  under  them,  and  they  came  crawling 
in,  hands  up,  to  surrender.     A  rotten  lot.' 

Kraft  took  his  leave,  and  stalked  off  in  triumph  with 
his  prize. 

But  Zillner's  soul  was  in  a  fever.  The  other's  words, 
'  Never  lose  faith  .  .  .  cling  to  it  like  a  drowning  man,' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  141 

rang  in  his  ears.  Yes,  he  was  right.  Faith  without 
question.  No  '  if,'  no  '  but,'  no  hesitation  born  of  too 
much  bitter  knowledge.  Faith  such  as  that  meant 
victory.  He  walked  slowly  towards  his  quarters,  his 
face  lit  with  a  glow  from  the  red  sunset  clouds.  If  only 
all  hearts  could  glow  like  that  sky,  he  thought — with  the 
faith  of  that  German  soul.  '  And  you  yourself,'  came  a 
scornful  voice  within — '  Can  you  ?  Can  you  still  be- 
lieve ?  Can  your  heart  still  glow  with  faith  ?  Think 
of  the  horrors  of  last  August — of  Rutzinger  .  .  .'  And 
another  whisper  came :  '  No,  do  not  think.  Have 
faith !  Do  not  look  back,  only  believe  ! '  And  a  third 
voice  :  '  Faith,  faith  !  Cling  to  it  like  a  drowning  man. 
It  is  the  soldier's  only  way  ! '  And  Zillner's  soul  flung 
itself  upon  the  first  little  scornful  voice,  and  stifled  it : 
'  Silence  !  I  will  have  faith — faith  !  Be  silent.' 
And  the  scornful  whisper  died  away. 

Zillner  found  two  surprises  awaiting  him.  One  was 
an  order  from  division  headquarters  ;  the  troops  were 
to  prepare  for  a  march.  Detailed  instructions  from  the 
General  Commanding  explained  how  the  reconstruction 
of  the  position  had  been  effected,  so  that  the  army  could 
now  take  the  offensive,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  with  their 
German  comrades.  It  was  also  pointed  out  that  opera- 
tions were  proceeding  most  satisfactorily  on  all  fronts. 
Belgium  was  crushed  under  the  irresistible  advance  of 
Germany  ;  Antwerp,  the  last  bulwark,  was  on  the  point 
of  collapse.  In  Russian  Poland,  also  a  victorious  ad- 
vance. As  to  Serbia,  the  fighting  there,  it  seemed,  had 
assumed  a  particularly  desperate  character,  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  were  prospects  of  a  speedy  and 
decisive  result  in  that  direction.  And  finally  a  perora- 
tion :  '  Soldiers  !  A  hard  struggle  awaits  you,  but  we  are 
assured  of  the  justice  of  our  cause,  and  shall  fight  on  to 
the  victorious  end.  Heroes  I  You  will  not  suffer  the 
enemy  to  gain  a  foothold  in  our  land  ;  your  irresistible 
courage  will  annihilate  the  foe.  The  Blessing  of  the 
All-Highest  be  on  your  endeavours.' 


142  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

The  second  surprise  was  a  letter  from  Baroness  Lisl. 
She  wrote : — 

*  October  1914. 

'Dear  Friend, — I  am  here  in  the  hospital  with  Moritz. 
He  does  not  seem  to  be  getting  on  as  he  ought,  and  I  am 
so  anxious  about  him,  so  I  write  to  you — ^perhaps  you 
could  give  me  a  word  of  comfort.  I  was  so  happy; 
Moritz  was  getting  better  every  day,  and  the  wound 
seemed  healing  up  so  nicely.  Then  yesterday  bronchial 
catarrh  set  in,  with  high  fever,  and  the  fever  will  not 
leave  him.  He  is  asleep  now,  thank  God,  but  he  is 
terribly  weak,  and  looks  perfectly  dreadful,  poor  fellow. 
The  doctor  says  something  about  complications,  and 
thinks  there  will  have  to  be  an  operation.  And  so  we 
are  going  to  Vienna  to  have  it  seen  to.  Do  you  think 
it  can  be  dangerous  ?  Oh,  how  dreadful  it  all  is,  shoot- 
ing and  slaughtering.  This  hateful  war !  They  are  all 
badly  wounded  cases  here,  but  none  of  them  is  as  bad 
as  Moritz,  poor  boy.  He  sends  his  kindest  regards,  and 
hopes  you  will  have  better  luck  than  he  has.  Keep  well, 
and  write  soon,  and  say  it  is  not  serious. — Your  affec- 
tionate Lisl  Krottenburg.' 

*  P.5. — It  can't  be  dangerous  really,  can  it  ?  ' 

Poor  Lisl  1  Zillner  looked  at  the  stiffly  sloping  letters 
that  seemed  running  as  if  driven  by  fear  across  the  paper. 
He  could  see  her  now  ;  pale  and  brave,  and  it  hurt  him 
to  be  so  helpless  to  comfort  her.  Providence  should  be 
kinder,  he  thought,  to  old  mothers  and  young  women  in 
love  ;  to  hurt  them  was  the  cruellest  thing  in  all  the 
cruelty  of  war.  Poor  Krottenburg — it  was  hard  luck. 
Perhaps  he  himself  would  soon.  .  .  .  But  no  matter. 
There  was  no  mother  to  grieve  for  him,  no  wife. 
Clarisse  .  .  .  ?  Her  warm  eyes,  perhaps,  would  fill 
with  tears  ;  his  kisses  pleased  her  more  than  other 
men's.  Why  was  he  so  cynical  in  his  thoughts  of  her  ? 
She  had  not  deserved  it.  She  would  mourn  for  him,  he 
knew,  in  other  ways  than  that.  But  would  she  care 
about  his  soul  ?     Still,  he  felt  he  had  wronged  her  in  his 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  143 

thoughts  ;    he  asked  her  pardon  now,  and  kissed  her 
hand  repentantly  in  his  heart. 

He  wrote  to  Lisl  at  once,  pouring  out  all  the  comfort 
he  could  find,  and  swearing  that  a  bullet  wound  in  the 
chest  was  never  serious,  and  bronchial  catarrh  a  trifle 
soon  got  over.  He  looked  forward  to  her  next  letter  ; 
was  sure  she  would  then  be  able  to  say  he  was  quite 
recovered.  And  she  must  write  again  soon.  Then  he 
went  on  to  tell  the  latest  news.  *  We  are  moving  out 
again  to-morrow,  and  I  am  awfully  glad.'  He  wrote 
six  pages  full  of  the  flowers  of  faith,  and  when  at  last  he 
had  finished,  he  saw  to  his  dismay  that  he  had  only 
given  poor  Lisl  two  pages  of  comfort  for  her  own  distress, 
with  three  times  as  much  war  to  follow.  She  wbuld  not 
be  pleased,  he  knew.  But  what  could  he  do  ?  He  him- 
self was  happy  now,  looking  forward  to  what  was  to  come. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Rain,  rain  .  .  .  the  sun  had  hidden  his  face.  Grey 
banners  of  cloud  waved  over  the  sky,  a  mass  of  torn  and 
dirty  rags,  swelling  out  and  bursting,  fluttering  along 
day  and  night,  trailing  their  ragged  edges  over  the  tree- 
tops.  A  sea  of  mist  drove  over  the  earth,  lashed  for- 
ward incessantly  by  the  wind,  that  howled  out  threats 
of  deluges  to  follow. 

Late  autumn  in  Galicia.  The  summer  is  dead  and 
gone,  and  a  miserable  world  lies  abjectly  crushed  under 
its  bereavement.  Birch  and  willow,  beech  and  pop- 
lar, all  showed  rust  on  their  green  summer  armour, 
and  moisture  dripped  from  them  unceasingly — drip — 
drip.  .  .  . 

Late  autumn  in  Galicia.  Roads  and  fields  all  awash 
with  mud,  and  death  glowering  out  from  the  overflowing 
swamps.  The  wet,  moss-grown  thatch  of  the  peasants' 
huts  sank  under  the  weight  of  the  clouds,  having  borne 
the  burden  of  the  deluge  year  after  year.  There  was 
no  help.  .  .  .  And  men  and  women  saw  once  more  that 
year  the  march  of  war  trampling  on  their  poverty. 
Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us !  Women  knelt  before  the 
Virgin  of  Czenstchau,  whose  efligy  hangs  in  every  cot- 
tage, and  prayed  :  *  Holy  Mother  of  God,  have  pity  upon 
us,  deliver  us  from  evil,  and  from  the  Cossacks.  Amen.' 
And  the  Lady  smiled  kindly  down  upon  them,  as  she 
was  wont  to  do  at  christenings,  at  weddings,  or  when 
funeral  trains  passed  by.  The  grey  geese  flew  in  their 
snowplough  formation  high  over  wood  and  moorland, 
high  above  the  dread  in  human  hearts — late  autumn  it 
was  in  Galicia, 

Grey  columns  trailed  serpent-like  through  the  deep 

144 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  145 

mire  ;  glistening  no  longer,  but  encrusted  with  mud  and 
filth  that  weighed  down  man  and  beast.  The  infantry 
tramped  along  with  tent-cloths  over  their  heads,  looking 
like  so  many  grimy  sugar-loaves.  The  artillery  drawled 
to  a  cracking  of  whips  to  get  along.  It  was  heavy  work 
for  leader  and  driver.  The  cavalry  stuck  to  the  columns ; 
it  was  impossible  to  move,  save  on  the  roads  themselves. 
The  risk  of  drowning  they  might  have  faced,  but  the 
animals  were  worn  out.  Softly  nurtured  in  times  of 
peace,  they  had  no  stamina  left  for  further  hardships. 
The  riders  urged  them  on  with  leg  and  spur,  but  the 
shrunken  flanks  had  lost  their  finer  feeling.  The  animals 
flicked  their  tails  :  '  All  right,  we  're  doing  all  we  can,* 
and  hobbled  along  again  with  drooping  heads.  And  far 
in  the  rear  were  the  transport  waggons,  constantly 
sticking  fast  and  being  dragged  on  again.  '  Hi !  get 
along  there.'  And  on  a  little  way,  and  sticking  fast 
again :  '  Hi !  get  along.'  And  so  the  march  went  on. 
No  halt,  no  rest. 

'  Filthy  weather,'  growled  Pfustermeyer,  emptying 
the  water  from  the  right-hand  pocket  of  his  raincoat. 
'  I  ought  by  rights  to  have  been  down  with  rheumatism 
long  ago.  Look  at  that ! '  And  he  pointed  indignantly 
to  the  stream.  '  If  we  don't  all  get  mildew  on  the  brain ! ' 
Zillner  smiled  absently.  The  rain  had  been  pouring 
down  for  three  days  now — but  what  matter  ?  They  had 
covered  a  good  distance,  considering.  The  territory 
they  had  evacuated  a  month  earlier  lay  now  gratefully 
at  their  feet.  Part  of  it  was  already  behind  them, 
cleared  of  the  Cossacks,  and  not  far  ahead  was  the  great 
river.  Once  that  was  won,  all  might  be  well.  The 
Higher  Command,  too,  seemed  to  have  undergone  a 
welcome  change.  There  was  no  more  rushing  on  blindly, 
but  rather  an  advance  by  stages.  True,  the  Intelligence 
Department  was  not  as  efficient  as  could  be  wished, 
owing  to  the  wretched  state  of  the  cavalry. 

'  It 's  beastly  weather,'  admitted  Zillner  to  his  com- 
panion,  '  but  I  can't  say  it  troubles  me  very  much. 

K 


146  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

We  seem  to  be  getting  on  pretty  well.  Looks  as  if  we 
might  make  a  better  job  of  it  this  time.* 

'  You  think  so  ?  Well,  I  shouldn't  be  sorry  if  the 
bigwigs  had  grown  wiser  after  their  last  lesson — which 
we  had  to  pay  for.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  'm  rather 
inclined  to  think  these  new  Fabian  tactics  are  brought 
on  by  the  weather ;  all  this  water  on  their  heads  has 
cooled  the  brains  of  our  friends  in  the  bottle-green. 
Once  a  fine  spell  sets  in  again,  I  'm  very  much  afraid 
they  '11  find  all  have  the  Maria-Theresa  fever  as  badly  as 
before.' 

'  There  's  not  much  fear  of  that — fine  weather,  I  mean. 
What  do  you  think  of  our  friend  the  enemy,  by  the  way  ? 
He  seems  an  adept  at  running  away.' 

'  He  '11  pull  up  soon  enough,  you  wait  and  see.  Unless 
he  's  taken  fright  at  our  fire-eating  von  Rosselsprung.' 

Major  Don  Quixote  certainly  presented  a  terrifying 
aspect  as  he  rode.  His  face  was  a  lemon  yellow,  and  he 
hung  shivering  in  the  saddle,  the  gout  twitching  and 
nipping  in  every  limb.  But  his  beady  eyes  burned 
fiercely,  and  his  telescope  was  constantly  searching  for 
the  enemy,  while  he  muttered  curses  on  them  for  failing 
to  appear.  The  little  captain,  Crlenjak,  spoke  but 
little  ;  he  was  suffering  tortures  from  rheumatism,  and 
every  now  and  again  would  seek  comfort  in  the  contents 
of  his  flask.  '  This  miserable  rain.  ...  I  can't  make 
out  .  .  .' 

Despite  the  cautious  slowness  of  their  advance,  the 
Tiefenbachers  came  upon  the  enemy  unexpectedly.  One 
morning  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  fields  and  meadows 
were  steaming  with  moisture.  Just  as  the  head  of  the 
column  came  down  into  a  little  valley  with  a  clump  of 
firs  below,  there  was  a  sudden  spatter  of  musketry  from 
somewhere  unseen.  The  bullets  flew  far  overhead,  and 
there  were  no  casualties.  But  it  was  enough ;  Colonel 
Prapora,  in  the  rear,  commended  his  regiment  to  the 
care  of  the  Almighty,  sprang  hastily  from  his  horse,  and, 
calling  for  the  colours,  ensconced  himself  under  cover, 
where  he  stayed. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  147 

Zillner,  in  command  of  the  advance  guard,  dashed 
forward  to  the  edge  of  the  wood.  Between  these  two 
extremes,  the  Colonel  sitting  and  watching  the  white 
shrapnel  clouds  with  great  displeasure,  and  the  leader 
of  the  advanced  patrol  reconnoitring  the  apparently- 
empty  ground  in  front,  the  battalions  spread  out  fan- 
wise,  and  hurried  forward  in  brave  uncertainty. 

It  was  a  typical  Austrian  engagement  from  the  early 
days  of  the  war.  Shots  are  fired  somewhere  or  other — 
the  enemy  must  be  at  hand.  The  Higher  Command 
dismounts  and  takes  cover.  The  battalions  form  up 
automatically  in  readiness  for  action,  and  hurry  forward 
in  thin  lines.  No  one  knows  exactly  where  the  enemy 
is,  or  what  is  his  strength.  The  Higher  Command  would 
like  to  do  something  or  other,  but  does  not  quite  know 
what.     That  is  the  first  phase. 

In  the  second,  the  enemy  has,  as  a  rule,  been  located 
more  or  less — one  can  tell  from  what  direction  the  firing 
comes,  but  his  strength  and  dispositions  are  still  unknown. 
At  this  stage,  the  foremost  companies  roll  forward  inde- 
pendently, firing  and  being  fired  on  as  they  go,  while 
those  behind  remain  in  a  state  of  tension  in  reserve. 
The  battalion  commanders  take  no  prominent  part ; 
they  have  taken  cover  somewhere  with  their  adjutants 
and  buglers,  and  are  watching  curiously  to  see  what 
happens.  Ought  they  to  bring  up  the  reserves  on  the 
centre,  or  on  the  right,  or  left  ?  Hard  to  say  ?  Which 
flank  is  the  weaker  ?  Their  science  cannot  tell.  There 
is  an  action  in  progress  up  in  front,  that  is  all  they  know, 
and  there  is  a  constant  dropping  of  lead  from  above, 
which  disquiets  them  in  cover. 

Third  phase.  Rapid  firing  all  along  the  line.  The 
companies  have  each  got  into  touch  with  the  nearest 
enemy ;  the  men  are  shooting  hurriedly,  and  wasting 
much  ammunition.  The  staff  is  beginning  to  feel 
nervous — strictly  speaking,  perhaps  one  ought  to  order 
an  advance  at  this  point.  Something  must  be  done. 
But  where — right,  centre,  left?  .  .  ,  What  about  the 
reserves  ?    Never  mind,  bring  them  up  to  the  fu'ing 


148  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

line  at  the  nearest  point.  And  no  sooner  said  than  done. 
The  staff  creep  out  from  their  cover  and  whistle  and  sig- 
nal for  the  advance.  The  reserves  dash  up  to  the  part 
of  the  firing  line  nearest  them,  throw  themselves  down, 
and  open  fire.     Thus  the  attack  '  develops.' 

Meanwhile,  the  Higher  Command  is  sweating  with 
anxiety.  Ought  to  do  something,  of  course;  issue 
prompt  orders  for  decisive  action  of  some  sort — ^possibly 
an  alteration  of  the  existing  arrangement.  But  how  is 
it  to  be  done  ?  Between  them  and  the  firing  line  is  an 
antechamber  of  death,  where  the  air  is  alive  with  lead. 
No  voice  could  be  heard  through  that.  Where  is  the 
telephone  ?  No  time  to  lay  any  line  in  the  hurry  of  the 
unexpected  attack.  Consequently,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  expose  oneself  in  person.  But  that  will  not  do — as  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  is  strictly  against  the  rules  and  regula- 
tions. It  is  the  duty  of  the  company  commanders  and 
their  subalterns,  and  in  exceptional  cases  of  battalion 
commanders,  to  sacrifice  themselves ;  the  Higher  Com- 
mand must  at  all  times  keep  out  of  danger  as  far  as 
possible.  What,  then,  is  to  be  done  ?  For  the  present, 
nothing  but  keep  under  cover,  and  try  to  conceal  anxiety 
by  curses  and  exclamation,  wringing  of  hands,  or  an 
impressive  iciness  of  manner,  according  to  temperament. 

In  the  fourth  and  last  phase,  one  of  two  things  may 
happen.  Either  the  leaders  have  chanced  to  hit  upon 
the  right  thing  at  the  right  moment,  and  thrown  their 
forces  against  the  enemy's  weak  point  and  gained  a 
victory,  or,  as  too  often  is  the  case,  the  enemy  makes  a 
sudden  furious  rush  at  one  flank,  and  always  the  one 
where  no  reserves  were  available.  And  the  confused 
maestoso  of  brainlessly  expended  courage  ends  in  an  in- 
glorious retreat. 

This  time  the  Tiefenbachers  were  in  luck.  Every- 
thing worked  out  all  right  in  the  end,  though  by  no  means 
according  to  schedule.  Zillner  had  quickly  discovered 
whence  the  firing  came.  On  a  hill  rising  gently  from  the 
farther  side  of  the  valley,  beyond  the  clump  of  firs,  there 
lay  the  enemy,  almost  invisible  in  shallow  trenches.     In 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  149 

front,  and  on  the  left  of  the  slope,  lay  a  village,  the  out- 
skirts of  which  were  likewise  occupied  by  the  Russians, 
with  their  guns  in  rear.  There  was  but  little  artillery 
fire,  however,  and  the  effect  produced  was  slight.  The 
batteries  were  drawn  up  about  a  thousand  paces  from 
the  ridge ;  the  infantry  in  the  village  were  a  little  over 
half  that  distance  away.  Zillner  drew  up  his  men  at 
the  edge  of  the  wood  ;  on  the  left  was  Grill,  with  his 
model  company,  and  on  the  right  Captain  Crlenjak  with 
his  detachment.  Pfustermeyer  was  in  reserve,  with  his 
company  posted  in  a  ditch  in  the  wood  ;  Major  Blagorski 
was  with  them.  The  guardian  angel  of  the  Tiefenbachers 
had  caused  the  other  battalions  to  extend  out  to  the  left, 
where  a  sunken  road  led  up  to  the  village.  Colonel 
Prapora,  who  remained  with  the  colours  a  thousand 
paces  in  the  rear,  did  not  approve  of  these  dispositions  ; 
he  would  have  preferred  to  throw  in  his  weight  on  the 
right.  His  reasons  for  holding  this  view  were  not  stated, 
but  he  was  evidently  displeased,  and  slapped  his  cape 
furiously  on  the  ground.  Meanw^hile,  the  action  de- 
veloped, and  soon  the  opposing  forces  were  hotly  en- 
gaged. The  Russians  were  still  but  indifferent  marks- 
men, and  the  Austrian  artillery  soon  began  to  take  part, 
silencing  the  enemy's  guns  after  a  brief  spell  of  energetic 
fire.     The  losses  up  to  now  were  but  small. 

The  fourth  phase  was  approaching.  Major  Blagorski 
stretched  himself  at  ease  by  the  ditch,  with  Pfustermeyer 
at  his  side.  '  Time  we  were  moving  up,'  he  said.  His 
withered  face  seemed  rejuvenated  by  a  happy  resolution. 
'  Going  on  nicely  to-day.  And  in  the  absence  of  the 
Colonel,  I  think — I  will  venture — to  try  and  get  in  on 
the  left.'  He  cast  a  questioning  glance  at  the  heavy 
captain,  as  if  seeking  for  support. 

'  I  think  so  too,  sir.  We  can  get  up  under  cover  of  the 
village,  and  take  them  in  flank.' 

'  Exactly — yes,  that 's  what  I  meant.  You  will 
remain  here,  if  you  please,  with  my  battalion,  and  hold 
the  position.' 

The  old  soldier  rose  to  his  feet,  and  strode  off  rapidly 


150  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

through  the  trees  to  the  left.  To-day,  at  least,  he  could 
act  on  his  own  initiative ;  no  need  to  dance  like  a 
marionette  while  others  pulled  the  strings.  To-day  his 
mind  was  clear ;  relieved  of  the  dread  of  censure  and 
the  thought  of  what  the  Colonel  would  say.  He  walked 
with  a  firm  step,  sprightly  as  in  the  days  when  he  was 
a  young  lieutenant,  without  a  care  in  the  world.  He 
scarcely  noticed  the  crackle  of  firing  and  the  whine  of 
bullets  about  him,  and  paid  no  heed  to  the  flying  splinters 
from  the  trees.     His  mind  was  made  up. 

Pfustermeyer  had  got  his  huge  frame  into  an  upright 
position,  and  stood  now  leaning  against  a  tree,  watching 
the  progress  of  the  fighting  ahead.  He  was  just  about 
to  throw  in  his  reserves  and  carry  forward  the  firing  line 
with  them,  when  something  unexpected  happened. 

'  Cease  fire  ! '  It  was  the  withered  mannikin  Crlenjak. 
And  as  he  gave  the  order,  he  sprang  forward  in  front 
of  the  rifle  muzzles,  waving  his  arms  wildly.  Then, 
'  Follow  me  ! '  Crlenjak  had  no  very  powerful  voice  at 
the  best  of  times,  and  only  those  nearest  could  have 
heard  him.  But  at  sight  of  the  little  skimpy  figure 
racing  away  on  his  aged  legs,  the  whole  company  sprang 
up  and  dashed  after  him.  There  was  a  little  brook 
ahead  ;  the  mannikin  stumbled,  and  went  in  up  to  the 
hips,  staggered  on  a  little,  and  stood  still,  in  the  midst 
of  a  hail  of  bullets.  The  men  hurried  after,  splashed  into 
the  water,  and  clambered  up  on  the  other  side,  their 
leader  all  the  while  shouting  and  waving  his  arms.  Then 
he  sat  down.  He  had  brought  up  his  men  to  within  four 
hundred  yards  of  the  enemy.  Grill  followed  hard  on  his 
heels.  The  model  captain  had  the  ill-fortune  to  run  up 
against  the  jet  from  a  machine-gun,  and  in  a  moment 
he  had  lost  thirty  men.  Zillner  and  Pfustermeyer 
covered  the  advance ;  the  firing  line  had  been  pushed 
forward  now.  In  the  meantime,  the  Major  had  brought 
up  the  second  and  third  battalions  by  the  sunken  road, 
and  had  taken  the  enemy  in  flank.  Soon  there  came  a 
sound  of  cheering,  and  a  moment  after  it  was  repeated 
from  close  at  hand.    The  Russians  had  taken  to  flight, 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  151 

and  the  withered  mannikin  stood  there  victorious  in  the 
enemy's  position,  waving  his  arms  wildly.  Close  behind 
him.  Grill  was  pouring  farewell  bullets  after  the  retreat- 
ing foe.    Not  until  twilight  fell  did  the  firing  cease. 

The  victors  assembled  in  the  village,  at  the  house  of 
the  priest.  The  holy  man  himself  was  fetched  up  from 
the  cellar,  trembling  and  in  no  pious  mood.  He  served 
up  a  meal  in  the  musty  dining-room  ;  bread,  sausage, 
and  wine,  which  he  set  before  his  guests,  not  out  of 
Christian  charity,  but  for  a  price.  And  when  this 
steward  of  God's  mercy  was  invited  to  shelter  the 
wounded,  he  burst  out  into  desperate  entreaties. 

'  Gk)od  sirs,  I  beg  of  you — think  of  my  floors.'  But  he 
did  not  escape.  Zillner  sent  off  men  to  fetch  straw  from 
the  well-filled  barn  at  the  back,  and  beds  of  a  sort  were 
made  up  on  the  floor  of  the  biggest  room  in  the  place. 
The  slightly  woimded  came  in  first,  men  hit  in  the  hands 
or  feet  or  shoulders,  groaning,  pale,  and  spattered  with 
blood.  A  couple  of  bad  cases  were  carried  up  ;  their 
faces  showed  already  that  mysterious  change  ;  an  ex- 
pression as  of  something  remote,  almost  supernatural. 
They  moaned  slightly  and  asked  for  water.  And  when 
they  had  drunk,  they  whispered  '  Mother.'  But  no 
ambulance  could  bring  her  to  them  there. 

The  priest  stood  with  his  hands  folded  over  his  stomach 
looking  down  upon  all  the  misery  and  distress.  Then 
turning  to  Zillner,  he  said  :  '  I  see  there  are  some  among 
them  who  may  be  in  need  of  the  last  offices  of  Holy 
Church.  .  .  .'  Suddenly  he  broke  off,  and  his  unctuous 
voice  grew  hard,  as  he  went  on,  '  Pardon  me,  but  there 
are  no  Jews  among  them,  I  hope.  I  could  not  receive 
under  my  roof  .  .  .' 

The  young  captain  flushed  angrily,  and  clenched  his 
fists  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  plant  them  full  in  the 
bloated  face  of  that  priestly  hypocrite.  It  would  have 
relieved  him  mightily.  A  man  who  could  speak  like 
that  at  such  a  time  deserved  to  be  hung,  no  less.  He 
controlled  himself,  however,  and  his  steel -grey  eyes  looked 


152  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

the  man  up  and  down  from  collar  to  hem  of  his  greasy 
frock. 

'  I  do  not  know  if  there  are  Jews  here  or  not,'  he  said 
sternly.  '  But  turn  one  of  those  men  out  of  this  house, 
and  I  shoot  you  on  the  spot.'  He  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
the  shepherd  of  souls  went  off  to  collect  his  paraphernalia 
for  launching  them  on  the  voyage  to  heaven. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  Colonel  came  up. 
He  was  visibly  moved,  and  congratulated  the  regiment, 
as  he  fell  to  upon  his  supper,  eating  with  hearty  appetite. 

'  Went  off  very  nicely,'  he  said,  with  his  mouth  full. 
'  Almost  exactly  as  it  should.'  Then  catching  sight  of 
the  wounded,  with  the  doctors  still  busy  among  them, 
he  went  on  in  a  melancholy  tone  :  *  Ah,  yes,  the  fallen — 
poor  fellows !  Terrible,  terrible !  Are  there — any — er — 
casualties  among  the  officers  ?  ' 

There  were  two  second  lieutenants  of  the  second  bat- 
talion killed,  four  other  wounded,  and  Major  von 
Rosselsprung  had  been  thrown  from  his  horse. 

'  Very  sad,  very  sad  indeed,'  said  the  Colonel.  He 
then  gave  orders  for  the  whole  regiment  to  remain  at  its 
post  in  the  captured  position  throughout  the  night. 
'  The  company  officers  will,  of  course,  remain  with  their 
men.     We  never  know  .  .  .' 

The  Adjutant  noticed  the  looks  of  dismay  on  the 
faces  of  the  officers  present,  and  endeavoured  like  a  good 
comrade  to  help  them  out.  '  Don't  you  think,  sir — we 
might  .  .  .  Our  patrols  have  reported  that  the  enemy 
are  in  full  ffight — and  our  men  must  be  in  need  of  rest 
after  a  heavy  day.  .  .  .  The  rain  coming  on  again  .  .  . 
might  it  not  be  sufficient  to  double  the  outposts  ? ' 

The  Colonel  turned  on  him  in  haughty  surprise.  '  Sir, 
are  we  at  war,  or  are  we  not  ?  The  men  do  not  require 
to  be  nursed  day  and  night.  Say  no  more,  sir,  if  you 
please.  The  order  will  be  carried  out  as  I  have  said. 
The  men  to  be  at  their  posts  within  two  hours  from  now.' 
And  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  the  Colonel  betook  himself 
to  the  best  bedroom  to  sleep  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

A  general  murmur  of  discontent  arose.     The  order 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  153 

was  unreasonable — ridiculous.  It  was  pouring  with 
rain,  and  the  men  were  worn  out. 

'  "  Care  will  be  taken  to  keep  men  and  material  in  good 
condition,"  quoted  one.  '  We  shall  have  a  nice  sick 
list  to-morrow.  Half  of  them  down  with  rheumatism. 
Cruelty  to  animals — infernal  shame  ! ' 

Little  Crlenjak  was  mxurmuring  to  himself :  *  Raining 
again.  .  .  .  Really,  I  don't  know  .  .  .  ' — ^when  a  hand 
was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

'  Stay  where  you  are,  comrade.  I  've  a  bundle  of 
straw  there  in  the  corner.  You  can  take  my  place,  and 
I  '11  go  out  for  to-night.  I  'm  not  troubled  with  gout, 
you  know,  and  it  won't  hurt  me.' 

'  You,  Major  ?  No,  no,'  stammered  the  mannikin. 
'  I  thank  you,  sir.  I  thank  you,  but  with  all  respect — 
couldn't  think  of  it.'  Two  weary  old  men  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes.  Then  the  still  active  Major  grasped 
the  hand  of  the  little  Captain  declared  unfit  for  further 
service,  '  even  with  the  militia,'  and,  pressing  it  kindly, 
led  him  to  his  corner.  '  Lie  down  there  and  rest,  com- 
rade. You  did  wonders  to-day.  I  '11  see  that  it 's 
not  forgotten.  Good-night.'  And  the  withered  little 
veteran  lay  down,  with  a  thrill  of  joy  and  pride. 

Pfustermeyer  beckoned  to  his  brother  captains. 
'  Colonel 's  sure  of  a  decoration  for  to-day's  work,'  he 
whispered.     '  Guess  why  ?  ' 

'  For  keeping  safely  out  of  it  all,'  suggested  one. 

'  No,  sir,  that 's  not  it.  For  finding  his  way  back  to 
the  regiment,  having  to  pass  through  a  wood  which  we 
had  cleared  of  the  enemy,  and  a  village  ditto,  all  in  the 
dark,  and  raining  into  the  bargain.' 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter,  in  the  midst  of  which  a 
stretcher  was  brought  in.  It  was  Major  Don  Quixote. 
His  eye  still  flashed,  but  his  black -dyed  moustache  had 
lost  its  martial  trim,  and  hung  down  draggled  and  grey. 
It  was  indeed  a  draggled  and  grey  von  Rosselsprung  that 
met  their  eyes  now.  So  the  Knight  of  La  Mancha  might 
have  looked  after  his  battle  with  the  windmills.  Sticky 
mud  hung  about  him  like  the  icing  on  a  cake. 


154  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

His  brother  officers  gathered  round  him  sympatheti- 
cally.   '  What 's  this,  Major  ?    Not  badly  hurt,  I  hope  ?  ' 

The  fire-eater  waved  a  hand  deprecatingly.  '  Nothing 
serious,  gentlemen,  nothing  very  much.  The  luck  was 
against  me  to-day.  I  was  just  dismounting,  when  the 
beast  galloped  off,  and  dragged  me  along.  One  rib  and 
a  leg  broken — not  quite  the  sort  of  thing  one  expects 
on  active  service  .  .  .  still  .  .  .'  A  twinge  of  pain 
shot  through  the  grey  face. 

'  Oh,  we  '11  soon  have  you  fixed  up  again,  Major,'  said 
Pfustermeyer  encouragingly.  '  Little  trip  to  Vienna, 
do  the  convalescent  there  for  a  bit,  and  then  come  back 
and  join  us  in  Kiev  or  Moscow.  Don't  worry  about 
that ! ' 

'  Yes,  but  you  know,  that 's  not  the  worst  of  it.  My 
telescope,  binoculars,  vacuum  flask,  and  everything — 
gone  I  All  the  lot!  Well,  well.  .  .  .  I 'd  better  get 
along  to  the  doctor,  I  suppose.' 

And  the  shade  of  Don  Quixote  disappeared  within, 
cursing  the  unlucky  jade  that  had  been  the  cause  of  all 
his  troubles. 

The  other  passed  through  the  hall,  where  the  wounded 
lay  groaning  and  whispering  half-unconsciously,  and  set 
ofi  through  the  rain  and  the  dark.  Hoods  were  drawn 
down,  and  electric  pocket  lamps  flashed  out.  The  rain 
was  pouring  in  torrents.  The  men  were  huddled  up  at 
their  posts,  covered  as  well  as  they  could  manage  with 
tent-cloths  and  straw,  or  lay  shivering  with  cold  in  the 
dug-outs.  A  stream  of  water  flowed  down  along  the 
bottom  of  the  trench,  trickling  noisily  over  the  cartridge 
cases  of  the  late  defenders. 

Zillner  drew  a  sheet  of  canvas  about  his  shoulders. 
The  men  about  him  were  snoring,  despite  the  wet. 
Worn  out  with  fatigue,  they  slept  like  lost  cattle,  like 
beasts  that  had  learned  to  do  without  the  shelter  of  a 
byre,  and  were  now  inured  to  hardships  and  discomfort. 
The  outposts,  forced  to  keep  awake,  stood  gazing  out 
into  the  impenetrable  darkness,  stamping  their  feet  from 
time  to  time,  to  keep  warm.     The  hours  dragged  on  with 


CAPTAIN  ZTLLNER  155 

heavy  groping  pace.  Zillner  found  no  difficulty  in 
keeping  awake.  Not  that  the  cold  and  the  wet  prevented 
him  from  sleeping,  though  the  water  had  soon  found  its 
way  through  to  his  skin.  He  could  not  have  slept  that 
night  in  the  softest  bed.  It  was  pure  delight  that  kept 
him  awake. 

Next  morning  the  sun  shone  out,  knowing  perfectly 
well  that  it  was  contrary  to  rules  and  regulations  at  that 
time  of  year,  wherefore  it  had  hung  little  rags  of  cloud 
about  its  frozen  face,  and  peeped  through  as  if  half 
ashamed  to  be  seen.  Nevertheless,  the  drops  on  the 
trees  were  grateful,  and  twinkled  up  their  thanks  before 
falling  to  the  wet  earth  ;  the  sickly  grass,  too,  seemed  the 
better  for  it.  Even  the  puddles  shone  with  a  golden 
gleam,  and  the  windows  in  the  wretched  cottages 
sparkled.     The  sun !  .  .  . 

The  Tiefenbachers  had  already  marched  for  two  hours 
of  the  new  day,  and  were  lying  now  in  a  potato  field, 
ready  for  action.  Orders  had  been  received  from  corps 
headquarters  to  halt  at  a  certain  point,  where  the  cavalry 
were  to  effect  a  manoeuvre  designed  to  hoodwink  the 
enemy.  And  so  the  Tiefenbachers  lay  in  readiness  in 
their  dripping  potato  field.  The  sun  was  drawing  up 
the  moisture  from  their  sodden  clothes,  and  they  turned 
and  spread  themselves  to  get  the  most  of  it. 

Colonel  Prapora  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  give 
the  officers  an  instructive  little  lecture  on  the  action  of 
the  day  before — exactly  as  at  manoeuvres.  The  officers 
stood  round  in  a  respectful  half  circle,  maps  in  hand. 
Colonel  Prapora  had  a  decided  talent  for  discussing 
questions  of  tactics  ;  he  spoke  fluently,  and  with  the 
usual  professional  jargon  of  the  expert,  yet  withal  easily 
and,  as  it  were,  confidently.  His  explanations  were 
emphatic  if  not  lucid,  and  liberally  interlarded  with 
quotations  from  the  handbooks.  It  was  not,  as  a  rule, 
wise  to  oppose  his  views,  or  suggest  alternatives.  Like 
a  seer  among  the  blind,  he  laid  down  the  law  to  his  flock, 
by  virtue  of  that  higher  schooling  which  had  taught  him 


156  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

to  create  worlds  out  of  the  nebulous  inane.  And  he 
fashioned  his  worlds  according  to  his  will,  and  was  not 
pleased  when  any  of  his  staff  failed  to  recognise  the 
excellence  of  his  creation. 

On  the  whole,  he  was  not  displeased  with  the  results 
of  yesterday's  action.  He  approved  of  the  rapid  and 
connected  manner  in  which  the  troops  had  been  brought 
up  at  the  proper  moment ;  the  eagerness  and  Man  of 
their  advance,  and  the  prudence  with  which  advantage 
had  been  taken  of  the  ground,  which,  on  the  one  hand 
.  .  .  while  on  the  other  hand  .  .  .  etc.  With  regard 
to  the  final  move,  the  attack  on  the  flank,  he  was  not 
quite  sure  that  it  had  been  wise  to  deliver  that  on  the 
left.  It  was  a  delicate  point.  True,  it  had  proved 
successful,  still  ...  by  striking  the  final  blow  on  the 
right,  it  would  have  been  possible  to  threaten  the 
enemy's  line  of  retreat  far  more  seriously,  as  .  .  .  And 
he  proved  it  conclusively,  by  the  most  delicate  arguments 
expressed  in  plastic  phrases. 

Pfustermeyer  nudged  Zillner  unobserved. 

'  I  did  not  interfere,'  the  Colonel  went  on,  '  for,  as  I 
have  said,  there  was  nothing  absolutely  wrong  in  attack- 
ing on  the  left.  One  thing,  however ' — his  handsome 
blue  eyes  darkened  as  he  spoke — '  I  must  censure  as 
absolutely  indefensible,  and  that  was  the  isolated  rush 
from  the  front  group.  You  are  all  aware,  gentlemen, 
that  isolated  movements,  however  courageously  executed 
— but  you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  It  is  a  point  on 
which  all  writers  are  agreed.  Supposing  that  the  enemy 
had  made  a  counter  charge,  and  driven  that  company 
back — I  ask  you,  what  would  the  consequences  have 
been  ?  Who  was  in  command  of  that  company,  by 
the  way  ?  ' 

Captain  Crlenjak  saluted.     '  I,  sir.' 

'  From  a  tactical  point  of  view,  the  movement  was 
altogether  unwarrantable.  What  induced  you  to  act 
as  you  did  ?  ' 

The  mannikin  glanced  round  helplessly  for  support. 
'  I  ...  I  thought,  sir  .  .  .  that  ...  it  seemed  .  .  ,' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  157 

Major  JBlagorski  raised  his  hand  to  liis  cap.  His 
bushy  moustache  was  trembUng.  *  Captain  Crlenjak, 
sir,  was  the  first  to  discover  the  weakness  of  the  enemy 
at  that  point,  and  lost  no  time  in  taking  advantage  of  it. 
I  have  reported  his  action  as  deserving  of  recognition.' 

The  Colonel  was  taken  aback.  *  H'm,  yes — a  very 
plucky  piece  of  work — certainly.  I — er — certainly,  yes. 
But  from  a  tactical  point  of  view,  it  was  undoubtedly 
an  error.  And  I  must  beg  you,  sir,  for  the  future  not  to 
repeat  it.  Independent  actions  of  that  sort.  .  .  .  You 
understand  ?  ' 

'  No,  sir,  I  do  not  understand,'  said  the  little  man 
firmly. 

It  was  an  awkward  moment.  The  Colonel  flushed 
angrily,  and  grasped  at  his  cape — a  sure  sign  of  trouble 
brewing.  Then  Grill  came  to  the  rescue.  '  Permit  me, 
sir,'  he  said  quietly.  '  Recognising  the  situation  as 
critical — as  you  have  already  pointed  out — I  moved  up 
my  company  to  support  Captain  Crlenjak,  and  effected 
a  lodgment  at  the  same  time.' 

'  After  me,  if  you  please,'  cried  Crlenjak. 

'  Immediately  after,'  insisted  the  model  Captain. 

The  angry  flush  faded  from  the  Colonel's  brow.  '  Pre- 
cisely,' he  said,  in  some  relief.  '  You  see,  gentlemen, 
how  presence  of  mind  and  resolute  action  may  save  the 
situation  at  a  critical  moment.  Captain  Grill  must  be 
recommended  for  a  like  mark  of  distinction.' 

'  As  you  please,  sir,'  murmured  Major  Blagorski. 

Captain  Crlenjak  was  altogether  confused.  '  I  don't 
imderstand.  .  .  .' 

The  cava  Iry  was  coming  up .  The  squadrons  were  spread 
out  into  a  thin  extended  line,  the  reserves  in  close  forma- 
tion following  up  the  rear.  A  whole  division  rode  slowly 
across  the  fields,  and  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  next  hollow. 

'  Ah,'  said  the  Colonel,  bent  on  improving  the  occasion. 
*  You  see,  gentlemen — cavalry  thrown  forward  to  veil 
the  movements  of  the  main  body,  and  at  the  same  time 
acting  as  a  bait  to  draw  the  enemy.  Their  orders  are 
to  make  a  demonstration  and  retire  fighting,  as  soon  as 


158  CAPTAIN  21LLNER 

they  have  enticed  the  enemy  to  pursue.  The  enemy 
should  then,  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  foresee,  follow  what 
he  believes  to  be  the  advantage  gained,  and  will  be  drawn 
into  a  trap.  We  shall  be  ready  for  him  here,  and  he  will 
be  finally  annihilated  by  our  artillery,  which  is  drawn  up 
under  cover  of  the  hills  over  there.  A  masterly  plan  ; 
nothing  less.'  Pfustermeyer,  standing  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  pinched  Zillner  slyly  in  the  rear. 

As  Fate  would  have  it,  the  masterly  plan  did  not 
altogether  work  out  as  it  should  have  done.  The 
iavalry  certainly  did  their  part,  but  the  Russians  most 
inconsiderately  declined  to  do  theirs.  Instead  of  falling 
in  with  the  scheme,  and  carrying  out  the  business 
allotted  to  them,  they  preferred  to  fall  back  slowly  and 
in  order,  to  the  bank  of  the  great  river,  where  so  many 
war  games  had  been  won  and  lost  in  time  of  peace. ^ 

The  Tiefenbachers  marched  forward  accordingly. 
The  skeletons  of  burned  villages  glowered  like  ghosts 
upon  them  all  along  the  road,  and  peasants  crept  about 
like  ghouls  among  the  ruins.  The  images  of  saints  that 
they  had  hung  up  on  the  walls  of  their  cottages  had 
availed  but  little  to  ward  off  tribulation  from  the  home. 
The  Muscovite  is  an  orthodox  believer,  and  cares  nothing 
for  the  Romish  calendar  of  saints,  still  less  for  the  com- 
mandments of  the  Jews.  And  the  black  pennants  of 
war  flew  high  against  the  grey  of  the  autumn  sky. 

Zillner  glanced  absently  at  the  desolation  around. 
He  was  in  high  spirits  now,  almost  jubilant,  and  full  of  a 
deep  thankfulness.  He  had  regained  his  faith.  From 
the  innermost  depths  of  his  heart  he  believed,  as  he  rode 
slowly  through  the  devastated  land  in  those  autumn 
days.  Success  was  waiting  for  them  there  by  the  great 
river,  beckoning  to  her  poor  stepchildren  in  the  Aus- 
trian ranks.  Was  not  that  rainbow  there  in  the  east  a 
sign  ?  Forward — towards  it — through  it.  And  then — 
his  dreams  went  on — and  then  our  country  that  we  love 
will  receive  us  in  the  hall  of  honour.     Soldiers !     And 

^  The  river  San,  flowing  into  the  Danube  from  the  south,  past  the 
fortresses  of  Przemysl  and  Jaroslaw. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  159 

all  will  bow  in  admiration  and  say  :  '  Behold  the  army 
of  the  people  1  An  army  of  many  nations,  speaking 
many  tongues,  but  with  a  single  heart,  a  single  arm. 
Hail  to  the  victors  1 '  And  the  women  would  come, 
mothers  and  wives  and  lovers,  their  faces  still  drawn  with 
pain,  and  whisper  with  the  rest :  '  Hail  to  the  victors  1  * 
And  the  dead  heroes  would  be  blessed  through  all  time. 
So  he  dreamed,  riding  slowly  on,  and  his  drowsy  horse 
nodded  assent.  All  about  him  fluttered  the  black  flags 
of  despair,  but  his  fancy  dyed  them  anew,  to  red -and - 
white,  and  to  black-and -yellow.  The  holy  colours  that 
had  waved  for  so  many  years — they  would  hang  from 
every  window  in  every  street  at  the  homecoming.  And 
there  would  be  flowers,  flowers !  ...  So  he  dreamed. 

One  evening  he  was  sent  for  by  the  Colonel.  In  front 
of  that  officer's  quarter,  a  neat  and  fairly  wxll  appointed 
farmstead,  a  fatigue  party  was  digging. 

'  What  are  you  at  work  on  there  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  Bomb-proof  shelter  for  the  Colonel,  sir,'  answered 
the  corporal  in  charge.  '  Have  to  make  a  new  one  every 
halt.' 

Zillner  shook  his  head  and  smiled  as  he  went  on.  It 
was  really  comical,  after  all. 

The  Colonel  received  him  with  unusual  politeness. 
'  Sit  down.  Captain,  if  you  please.  Ah — you  are  trans- 
ferred to  corps  headquarters — dating  from  to-morrow. 
His  Excellency  has  just  sent  the  order  through.  Are 
you  acquainted  with  His  Excellency  ?  '  Zillner  was 
not.  '  Anyhow,  it  is  a  great  honour,  of  course.  Evi- 
dently, it  means  work  on  the  General  Staff.  Do  not 
forget,  if  you  please,  to  give  my  compliments  .  .  .  and 
— er — I  congratulate  you,  my  dear  fellow.' 

Zillner  went  off,  by  no  means  pleased  with  the  new 
arrangement.  He  was  bitterly  sorry  to  leave  his  com- 
pany now,  during  the  advance,  and,  worst  of  all,  to 
hand  it  over  to  Spicka,  the  Czech,  whom  he  had  always 
distrusted.  He  hurried  across  to  the  Major's  quarters  ; 
the  old  man  received  him  in  a  red  fez  and  slippers. 

'  I  know  all  about  it,'  he  said,  as  Zillner  entered. 


160  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  And  I  'm  sorry  to  lose  a  good  man.  What  can  I  give 
you  to  drink  ?  ' 

Zillner  was  most  concerned  about  Spicka.  The 
Major  listened  attentively  to  what  he  had  to  say,  and 
promised  to  do  what  he  could.  '  I  will  keep  an  eye  on 
him,'  he  said.  '  But  I  can't  very  well  do  more.  To  ask 
for  some  one  else  would  look  bad — bad  for  the  whole 
battalion.     And  the  Colonel  .  .  .  you  know  .  .  .  ' 

Zillner  handed  over  the  company  funds  and  the  rolls 
to  the  dark-browed  Czech.  He  would  have  liked  to 
take  leave  of  the  men,  but  they  were  already  asleep  in 
their  barns.  He  went  back  to  his  quarters,  with  a 
feeling  of  melancholy  that  he  could  not  repress,  and 
shook  hands  with  his  two  subalterns.  He  was  utterly 
miserable  at  leaving  it  all,  and  saying  good-bye  to  his 
little  Hungarian  —  he  had  never  before  realised  how 
much  he  had  grown  to  care  for  the  boy.  That  night 
seemed  as  if  it  would  never  end. 


CHAPTER  X 

*  And  I  hope  soon  to  be  able  to  inform  our  mutual 
friends  that  we  have  secured  a  valuable  addition  to  our 
staff.'  His  Excellency  smiled  graciously.  '  Can  you 
sketch  at  all  ?     Maps,  I  mean  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  your  Excellency.' 

'  Good  I  Tramhuber ' — General  von  Kreutzen  turned 
to  his  Chief  of  Staff — '  Captain  Zillner  here  will  take  over 
the  map  work  at  once.  Zapperer  hasn't  quite  the  knack 
of  it.     Good-bye,  then,  for  the  present,  my  dear  Zillner.' 

The  General  extended  his  hand,  and  Zillner's  first 
audience  was  over.  He  had  been  very  well  received. 
The  Chief  of  Staff  showed  him  down  the  carpeted  pas- 
sages to  the  billiard -room,  where  the  department  to 
which  he  was  just  appointed  was  installed. 

'  Pleased  to  have  you  with  us,'  said  Colonel  Tram- 
huber courteously.  '  I  understand  it  is  a  lady  whom 
we  have  to  thank  .  .  .  well  .  .  .  well  .  .  .'  and  he 
glanced  smilingly  at  the  young  Captain's  slender  figure. 
Tramhuber  was  a  man  about  j&ve -and -forty,  but  white- 
haired  already.  His  pale,  pleasant  face  wore  a  constant 
expression  of  thoughtful  preoccupation,  such  as  is  fre- 
quently seen  in  men  accustomed  to  severe  mental  work. 
The  reference  to  the  intervention  of  Clarisse  jarred  on 
Zillner  harshly  ;  he  thought  of  his  comrades  who  would 
have  to  lie  out  in  the  trenches  in  the  cold,  while  he  himself 
could  sit  at  his  ease  in  comfortable  quarters,  drawing 
maps,  merely  because  a  woman  had  interested  herself 
in  his  welfare.  He  was  altogether  innocent  of  any 
attempt  to  make  use  of  such  influence,  yet  he  could  not 
help  feeling  himself  as  a  deserter.  The  contrast  between 
the  life  and  work  of  his  comrades  in  the  regiment  and 
this  to  which  he  had  been  transferred  was  accentuated 


162  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

by  the  atmosphere  of  comfort  and  luxury  pervading  the 
whole  building,  with  its  marble  stairway  and  its  carpeted 
floors.  Certainly,  it  was  pleasant  to  breathe  such  an 
air  after  the  roughness  and  discomfort  of  trenches  and 
cantonments.  The  lofty  rooms,  the  costly  furniture 
gave  him  a  sense  of  well-being;  even  the  landscape 
without  seemed  to  improve  when  seen  through  plate- 
glass  windows. 

They  entered  the  billiard -room.  A  huge  table, 
littered  with  maps  and  sketches,  took  up  the  centre  of 
the  room,  and  at  smaller  tables  round  about  sat  a  dozen 
officers  of  the  staff  busily  at  work.  Compasses  and 
dividers  stalked  with  big  strides  over  hills  and  valleys, 
contour  lines  and  rivers.  Typewriters  clattered,  and 
pens  creaked  over  the  regulation  service  paper.  Other- 
wise, the  work  went  on  in  silence,  save  for  a  word  here 
and  there.  These  were  the  men  whose  task  it  was  to 
point  the  roads  of  the  armies,  and  they  were  conscious 
of  the  importance  of  their  work.  Their  faces  twitched 
now  and  again  with  the  strain  of  intense  concentration  ; 
their  brows  were  lined  with  vertical  furrows,  that  stood 
like  exclamation  marks  between  the  eyes.  '  I  am  work- 
ing 1  Do  not  venture  to  disturb  me  ! '  There  were  high 
brows  and  low  among  these  elect ;  bald  heads  and  heads 
of  hair  neatly  brushed.  Common  to  them  all  was  the 
earnest  preoccupation  of  the  creative  artist,  the  pious 
devotion  with  which  they  looked  upon  their  work. 
Captain  Zapperer,  whose  one  idea  was  his  own  advance- 
ment, was  bending  over  a  sketch  map,  on  which  he  was 
lining  in  with  blue  the  position  of  the  corps  according 
to  reports  just  in. 

The  Colonel  introduced  Zillner  to  his  new  companions, 
one  after  another  looking  up  and  greeting  him  with  a 
slight  pressure  of  the  hand.  Zapperer  bowed  with  an 
ingratiating  smile.  '  Delighted,  my  dear  fellow,  I  'm 
sure.'  Then  the  buzz  of  work  went  on  as  before.  In 
apparent  contrast  to  the  workers  round  about  was  a 
figure  leaning  against  the  big  central  table,  and  seem- 
ingly idle.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  he  was  no 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  168 

less  occupied  than  the  rest.  Lieutenant  Prince  Rabenegg, 
of  the  Menelik  Hussars,  who  had  volunteered  for  service 
on  the  staff,  had  undertaken  an  important  additional 
task,  and  was  now  contemplating  his  work  at  its  latest 
stage.  It  consisted  in  sticking  pins  with  coloured  flags 
into  a  large-scale  map,  showing  at  a  glance  the  position 
of  the  troops  and  of  the  enemy  opposed  to  them.  Day 
after  day  the  distinguished  old  gentleman  shifted  his 
flags  in  closest  accordance  with  the  movements  of  the 
various  units.  It  was  most  important  to  have  the 
position  correctly  indicated.  And  the  lines  occupied 
by  the  Austrian  troops  were  drawn  with  the  most 
scrupulous  accuracy.  If  those  allotted  to  the  enemy 
did  not  always  correspond  to  the  actual  facts,  this  was, 
of  course,  solely  due  to  the  unsportsmanlike  slyness  of 
the  Russians,  who  often  had  their  reserves  posted  in 
places  quite  unsuspected  by  the  General  Staff.  .  .  . 

The  Prince,  a  little  fatigued  by  his  exertions,  turned 
from  the  table  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  with  that 
agreeable,  somewhat  absent  expression,  which  gives  so 
many  Austrian  nobles  an  air  of  supreme  and  unquestion- 
able distinction. 

The  Colonel  explained  the  position  to  Zillner.  '  Here,' 
he  said,  pointing  to  a  zigzag  line  of  blue  flags,  '  is  the 
general  position  of  the  army  ;  we  have,  as  you  see,  ad- 
vanced continually.  Our  corps  is  here,  a  frontal  group 
in  the  centre,  and  our  advanced  posts  have  to-day  pene- 
trated up  to  the  river  itself.  The  enemy  has  retired  to 
the  farther  bank.  In  a  couple  of  days  we  shall  be  ready 
to  cross  ;  the  plans  are  being  made  out  at  this  moment.* 
He  waved  a  hand  towards  the  busily  occupied  heads  at 
the  tables  round.  '  Should  the  enemy  attempt  any 
serious  resistance,  which  is  hardly  likely  to  be  the  case, 
we  shall  force  the  passage.* 

'  I  rather  fancy.  Colonel,'  put  in  the  Prince  in  a  tone 
of  easy  familiarity,  '  that  we  are  pressing  him  back 
already.  Our  airmen  report  this  morning  that  he  is 
hurrying  supplies  to  the  rear.  It  will  be  something  of 
a — er — a.  '' faiLSse  couche  *'  for  him  here.' 


1C4  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  So  much  the  better,'  said  the  Colonel. 

There  was  a  small  apartment  adjoining  the  billiard- 
room,  where  the  apparatus  of  the  telegraph  department 
clicked  and  rattled,  and  phonetic  warning  signals  sounded 
like  toy  trumpets.  From  here,  the  product  of  all  this 
mental  power  was  transmitted  to  the  troops  in  the  field, 
the  weary,  filthy,  and  verminous  men  in  the  trenches 
were  injected  with  energy  from  a  distance,  till  they 
raised  their  heads  and  looked  out  over  the  sluggish  river, 
on  the  farther  bank  of  which  the  enemy  stared  back 
at  them.  The  apparatus  ticked,  the  telephones  called 
msistently :  *  Be  prepared — ^be  prepared  ! ' 

At  five  o'clock  the  entire  staff  sat  down  together  in 
the  dining -hall  of  the  chdteau,  a  great  room  decorated  in 
white  and  gold.  Tall  mirrors  hung  on  the  walls,  the 
ceiling  was  ornamented  with  costly  sculpture  work. 
The  noble  Count  who  owned  the  place,  preferring  him- 
self to  follow  the  war  from  a  distance,  had  given  his 
steward  instructions  to  show  every  courtesy  to  the  officers 
quartered  upon  him.  And  the  horseshoe  table  was 
resplendent  with  white  damask,  splendid  vases  full  of 
roses  from  the  conservatories,  and  an  array  of  crystal 
glasses.  The  more  material  welfare  of  the  present 
inmates  was  entrusted  to  the  care  of  a  portly  lieutenant 
of  infantry,  who  was  delighted  at  having  removed  his 
embonpoint  so  far  from  the  privations  of  the  front,  and 
threw  himself  with  the  greatest  zeal  into  his  work. 
Zillner  was  astonished.  Was  this  active  service  ? 
Close  in  touch  with  the  enemy,  and  only  a  few  kilometres 
away  from  the  wretched  hovels  where  the  troops  found 
shelter  ?  Beer  drawn  from  the  cask  frothed  in  costly 
glasses,  bottles  of  claret  and  Gumpoldskirchner  stretched 
their  slender  necks,  the  room  was  filled  with  the  perfume 
of  roses.  The  whole  seemed  like  a  sudden  transforma- 
tion scene,  the  work  of  some  merry  sprite  from  the 
days  of  peace,  when  feasts  were  made  to  celebrate 
promotion  and  honours  conferred.  But  the  wine 
was  there  to  taste,  and  the  beer,  cooled  to  a  nicety. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  165 

proved  it  was  no  illusion.  The  dishes  were  excellently 
prepared,  from  the  hors  d'oeuvre  to  the  roast  veal  and 
the  partridges. 

'  Do  you  always  live  like  this  ?  '  he  inquired  of  Prince 
Rabenegg,  who  sat  at  his  side. 

'  Of  course,  mon  cher,'  mumbled  the  Prince,  with  his 
mouth  full.  '  He  manages  pretty  well,  our  good  Zangerl. 
If  only  he  could  have  got  hold  of  a  cook  that  really  knew 
his  work.  The  fellow  we  have  is  from  Zacher's,^  it  is 
true,  but  .  .  .  To-day,  for  instance,  those  ceufs  pochis — 
really  very  poor.  He  is  quite  incapable  at  times.  A 
la  maitre,  he  calls  it.  Simply  ridiculous  I  Didn't  you 
notice  it  ?  '  Zillner  had  not.  '  Really,  you  surprise 
me.  A  la  maiire — that  is  to  say,  in  chicken  broth 
flavoured  with  sherry  and  just  a  touch  of  bitter.  Now 
that  mess  we  had  to-day — where  was  the  sherry  ?  And 
the  bouillon.  .  .  .     Simply  impertinent  I ' 

The  General  sat  at  the  end  table,  a  typical  Austrian 
officer  with  his  fresh,  florid  face.  The  rest  of  the  staff 
were  seated  at  the  side  tables,  and  thoughtfully  occupied 
with  their  meal.  Opposite  Zillner  was  the  portly  head 
of  the  medical  department,  and  next  to  him  a  supply 
officer  with  a  yellow  face,  who  suffered  from  liver,  and 
was  digging  peevishly  at  a  cold  chicken.  At  the  lower 
end  were  the  volunteer  motor  drivers,  typical  Vienna 
manufacturers,  and  the  General's  aide-de-camp.  They 
were  talking  of  the  military  situation.  The  general 
opinion  was  optimistic  ;  north  and  south  the  flanks  of 
the  army  had  gained  ground.  The  besieged  fortress 
might  soon  hope  to  be  relieved.  And  the  kaiserl.  und 
kbnigL  administration  had  been  re-established  through- 
out the  whole  of  the  reconquered  territory.  Once  at 
the  river  .  .  .  and  so  on. 

The  glasses  rang  merrily.  It  was  Eldorado,  thought 
Zillner.  Eldorado !  And  not  far  away,  only  a  few 
thousand  paces  off,  were  the  men  in  the  trenches,  writh- 
ing in  mud  and  cold.  No  ringing  of  wineglasses  there  I 
Only  the  whip -lash  of  conmiand.  Here  were  the  drivers, 
*  A  Vienna  restaurant,  famous  for  its  kitchen. 


166  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

feasting  at  their  ease,  and  there  the  beasts  of  burden, 
straining  their  hardened  Hmbs.  .  .  .  Eldorado ! 

They  had  reached  dessert,  when  another  staff  officer 
entered  the  room.  It  was  Lieutenant-Colonel  von 
Rechtentan,  a  thin  man  with  a  squint.  He  was 
splashed  with  mud  from  head  to  heels,  and  walked  with 
rapid  strides  up  to  the  Chief  of  Staff,  and  gave  a  message 
in  a  low  voice.  The  Chief  of  Staff  looked  up  in  surprise, 
nodded,  shook  his  head,  and  resumed  his  previous  atti- 
tude and  expression. 

The  General  glanced  at  the  new-comer.  '  Been  out  in 
the  mud.  Colonel,  I  see.     Anything  new  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  your  Excellency.  The  Russians  have  this 
afternoon  sent  a  small  force  across  the  river  to  the 
ground  occupied  by  the  Buttler  infantry,  though  the 
orders  most  distinctly  stated  .  .  .  ' 

'  The  details  later,  if  you  please.  They  are  still  on 
this  side  of  the  river  ?  ' 

'  Yes.  The  Buttlers  have  fallen  back  on  the  second 
line  of  defence.  I  would  respectfully  suggest  that  the 
battalion  commander  responsible  .  .  .' 

'  Later  on,  later  on.  .  .  .' 

A  flicker  of  displeasure  crossed  the  Colonel's  face  ; 
he  pressed  his  lips  together,  and  answered  in  a  low  voice, 
*  As  your  Excellency  pleases.' 

Coffee  was  served,  and  his  Excellency  made  a  sign  to 
intimate  that  they  might  smoke. 

'  Altogether  inconceivable ! '  said  the  last-comer  to 
the  captain  at  his  side.  '  Can't  imagine  what  he  was 
thinking  of,  I  'm  sure.  With  a  loss  of  hardly  thirty  per 
cent.,  he  falls  back,  and  actually  declares  that  the 
position  was  untenable.  If  I  had  my  way — ^well,  I  'd 
have  that  battalion  commander  tried  by  court  martial. 
One  must  keep  the  troops  better  in  hand — they  will  lose 
all  perception  of  the  situation.' 

*  Quite  agree  with  you — exactly  what  I  always  say ; 
keep  'em  in  hand,'  assented  the  captain,  a  young  man, 
with  a  puffy  weak  face. 

*  If  I  were  his  corps  commander,  I  would  order  him  to 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  lei 

retake  the  position  by  storm  this  very  day — if  it  cost 
the  whole  battalion  to  do  it.  What  are  the  men  for, 
if  not  to  fight  ?  '  The  Colonel  bit  the  tip  of  his  cigar 
angrily,  and  his  divergent  eyes  flashed. 

'  Precisely,'  agreed  he  of  the  puffy  face.  '  Quite 
agree.  .  .  .' 

General  von  Kreutzen  liked  to  take  a  hand  at  cards 
in  the  library  after  dinner.  Messages  of  importance 
could  be  brought  to  him  there  ;  it  was  frequently  neces- 
sary, in  issuing  the  orders  for  the  evening,  to  refer  to  the 
General  himself.  The  staff  withdrew  to  the  billiard- 
room,  and  work  was  resumed.  The  telegraph  clicked, 
and  the  warning  signals  uttered  their  little  tin  trumpet 
blasts  as  before. 

His  Excellency  played  taroc  with  his  aide-de-camp, 
the  senior  medical  officer,  and  the  head  of  the  supplies. 
The  cards  fluttered  busily,  and  meanwhile  the  table  was 
cleared  in  the  dining-room.  An  hour  later  Colonel 
Tramhuber  came  in  with  a  black  portfolio  under  his  arm. 

'  Reports  just  in,  your  Excellency.' 

'  Anything  important  ?  ' 

'  Well,  yes,  your  Excellency.' 

*  All  right,  fire  away.  Colonel,  and  let  us  have  it. 
Doctor,  it 's  your  lead.' 

*  Kjavicek's  brigade  reports  that  the  bridging  opera- 
tions ordered  to  be  carried  out  have  broken  down  for 
the  time  being,  owing  to  the  fire  of  the  enemy's  artillery. 
The  leader  of  the  pioneer  company  and  twelve  men 
fallen.' 

His  Excellency  looked  up.  '  There  is  some  one  to 
take  his  place,  I  suppose  ?     What  was  his  name  ?  ' 

'  Barabas,  your  Excellency.' 

'  Barabas  ?     Extraordinary  name.     A  good  man  ?  ' 

'  Very,  your  Excellency.  Recently  decorated  for 
bravery  in  the  field.' 

'  Really — &  pity.  Come  along.  Doctor,  out  with  it. 
Anything  else  ?  ' 

'  I  have  ventured  to  send  out  instructions,  subject 
to  your  Excellency's  approval,  to  the  brigade  to  remain 


168  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

for  the  present  in  the  front  h'ne,  and  hold  the  position. 
We  could  then,  in  a  day  or  so,  renew  the  attempt  to 
cross  in  collapsible  boats,  or  on  rafts.' 

'  Very  good.  We  can  talk  that  over  to-morrow. 
Furtner ' — this  to  his  aide,  who  was  studying  his  cards 
with  a  frown — '  you  're  a  deuce  of  a  time  making  up 
your  mind.  .  .  .  Nothing  else,  you  said  ?  ' 

'  The  troops  are  very  short  of  bread,  it  seems.  The 
same  thing  reported  from  several  quarters.' 

'  Ah — here  's  the  man  for  that.'  The  General  waved 
a  hand  towards  the  head  of  the  supplies.  The  officer 
indicated — he  of  the  liver  complaint — thrust  a  yellow 
face  out  from  his  gold-embroidered  collar.  '  Your 
Excellency  will  permit  me  to  explain.  We  cannot  bake 
bread  without  floor.  .  .  .' 

'  But  there  ought  to  be  flour,  sir.  There  is  always 
trouble  about  the  bread.  You  will  kindly  make  the 
requisite  arrangements  at  once.' 

'  Your  Excellency,  the  transport  .  .  .' 

'  Well,  what  about  the  transport.  But,  play,  man, 
play,  and  let  us  get  on.  There !  I  knew  it  was 
there.  The  devil's  own  luck  I  The  transport,  you 
said  .  .  .  ? ' 

'  Why,  your  Excellency,  the  state  of  the  roads  .  .  . 
and  the  late  reorganisation  cost  us  a  lot  of  material,  as 
you  know.' 

'  Well,  well,  we  must  look  into  it  to-morrow.  I  must 
get  to  the  bottom  of  this.  No,  you  don't — that 's  mine. 
Anything  more  ?  '  His  Excellency  was  beginning  to 
grow  impatient. 

*  The  Collaltos  report  forty  per  cent,  sick — chiefly 
trench  fever  and  dysentery — but  there  are  also  cases  of 
typhus  and  cholera.' 

'  That 's  for  you,  Doctor.  Forty  per  cent. — it 's 
scandalous.' 

The  senior  medical  officer's  shining  brow  darkened. 
'  Your  Excellency,  urgent  representations  were  made  three 
weeks  ago  as  to  the  need  of  a  fresh  supply  of  blankets. 
And  the  division  commanders  have  been  instructed  to 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  169 

takeevery  precaution  with  regard  to  the  sanitary  arrange- 
ments— the  latrines  in  particular  .  .  .' 

*  Oh,  pardon,  really,  you  know,  just  after  dinner.  .  .  . 
But,  of  course,  the  sanitary  arrangements  must  be  looked 
into,  and  without  delay,  if  you  please.  Furtner,  you 
again  ?  Why,  man,  whatever  are  you  thinking  about  ? 
With  a  hand  like  that  .  .  .  well,  well.  .  .  .  Anything 
else  ? ' 

'  One  most  important  thing,  your  Excellency — the 
regrettable  affair  which  Colonel  von  Rechtentan  reported 
this  evening.  I  would  respectfully  suggest  that  the 
position  ought  never  to  have  been  abandoned  at  that 
stage,  and  should  be  recaptured  immediately,  at  any 
cost.' 

'  I  will  ride  out  and  look  at  the  position  myself  to- 
morrow morning.  The  Colonel  and  Captain  Zillner  will 
go  with  me.     Horses  at  nine,  if  you  please.     Is  that  all  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  your  Excellency.' 

The  General  leaned  back  in  his  deep  chair  with  an  air 
of  intense  relief.  '  Well,  then,  that 's  done  with.'  But 
he  was  not  fated  to  go  on  with  his  game  undisturbed. 
The  Chief  of  Staff  was  just  leaving  the  room  when  he  ran 
up  against  the  flag -sticking  Prince,  who  entered  at  the 
same  moment,  with  a  slip  of  paper  in  one  hand.  '  Tele- 
phone message,  just  come  through.     Important.' 

The  Colonel  read  it  through,  and  swung  round  into  the 
room  again.  '  Pardon,  your  Excellency.  Kravicek's 
brigade  report  the  enemy  bombarding  their  position 
with  heavy  artillery.  Serious  losses.  The  Brigadier 
would  like  to  know  whether  he  is  to  keep  his  men  there, 
ox  fall  back  upon  the  second  line  of  defence  ?  ' 

'  Fall  back  ?  Unheard  of.  We  do  not  fall  back,  sir, 
in  this  corps.  Reinforcements  to-morrow — instruct  the 
Brigadier  accordingly.  And  now,  gentlemen,  if  you 
please  .  .  .  Haha  1 '  The  General  turned  to  the  table 
X)nce  more,  rubbing  his  hands. 

There  was  a  whir  and  clatter  in  the  telegraph  room, 
where  signals  were  being  sent  out  into  the  night.  And  in 
the  distant  farmhouses,  overworked  adjutants  sprang  to 


iro  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

the  telephone  receivers  and  heard  :  '  Hold  the  position 
at  any  cost — no  falling  back — reinforcements  to- 
morrow. .  .  .'  And  the  order  was  passed  on,  down  to 
the  very  bank  of  the  dark  river,  where  grimy  soldiers 
lay  digging  with  hand  and  spade  into  the  pitiful  earth, 
that  they  might  creep  into  its  shelter.  '  At  any 
cost  .  .  .' — the  order  that  sent  helpless  men  to  their 
death.  They  knew  not  whence  it  came  ;  only  that  it 
had  come,  rushing  upon  them  through  the  night.  And 
so  they  dug.  Crusted  and  caked  with  dirt,  their 
fingers  bleeding,  they  toiled  on  at  their  battered  de- 
fences, still  under  the  fire  of  heavy  guns — '  hold  the 
position '  .  .  .  ay,  hold  it.  .  .  .  God  help  them ! 

The  General,  in  his  palace  at  the  rear,  yawned  slightly, 
and  decided  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed. 

A  little  cavalcade  halted  by  the  windmill  on  the  top 
of  a  little  hill  which  rose  gradually  up  from  the  wide, 
silvery -dewed  fields  below,  with  their  tracery  of  ditches 
and  little  zigzag  roads.  Here  and  there  a  farm,  or  a 
village,  surrounded  by  trees,  looked  down  on  to  the  great 
river. 

'  There,  was  it  ?  Yes,  I  see,  I  see.'  His  Excellency 
followed  through  his  glass  the  direction  indicated  by  the 
Colonel's  pointing  finger.  '  Over  there  by  the  poplars — 
yes.'  A  row  of  trees  appeared  as  a  line,  the  thickness  of 
a  hair,  merging  into  the  horizon. 

'  That  is  the  spot,  your  Excellency.  The  enemy 
crossed  there  yesterday,  and  is  now  occupying  the  posi- 
tion formerly  held  by  the  second  battalion  of  the 
Buttlers.  The  regiment  holds  the  ground  from  there.' 
Colonel  von  Rechtentan  waved  an  arm  to  show  the 
extent  involved.  '  On  the  right  are  the  CoUalto  in- 
fantry, with  their  line  running  straight  on  from  there.' 

In  the  far  distance,  where  the  great  river  lay  behind 
dark  meadows,  a  desultory  rifle  fire  was  faintly  audible. 
Now  and  again  the  dull  boom  of  a  heavy  gun  floated 
heavily  through  the  thick  air  of  the  autumn  morning. 
His  Excellency  lowered  his  glass.     '  On  the  right — the 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  171 

Collaltos,  you  say.  H'm.  Yes,  they  are  good  men. 
Very  regrettable  affair,  the  enemy  's  breaking  in  hke 
that.     Thirty  per  cent.,  was  it  not,  the  Buttlers  lost  ?  ' 

'  Only  thirty  per  cent.,  and  then  fell  back,'  said  the 
Colonel  disgustedly.  He  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  personal 
affront  to  himself.  '  Altogether  unwarrantable  I  What 
he  should  have  done  .  .  .  '  Suddenly  little  white 
clouds  appeared  in  the  sky  not  far  from  the  windmill. 
Far  up,  and  quite  harmless  as  yet,  but  still.  .  .  .  Aha  I 
Closer  now — and  the  first  report  of  the  bursting  shrapnel 
is  heard. 

'  They  've  sighted  us,  it  seems,'  said  his  Excellency, 
with  a  smile.  Then— sss — the  rush  of  a  shell  overhead, 
and  this  time  it  burst  behind  them. 

Colonel  von  Rechtentan  changed  colour.  '  Your 
Excellency,'  he  stammered,  '  pray  do  not  expose  your- 
self .  .  .  your  own  safety  .  .  .  '  And,  turning  his 
horse,  he  galloped  off. 

The  General  waved  his  hand.  '  Trot,  my  dear  Colonel, 
trot.' 

The  spendthrift  of  battalions  obeyed  ;  but  his  face 
was  very  pale.  Zillner  smiled  scornfully,  recollecting 
how  bravely  this  man  had  talked  in  the  billiard -room  the 
night  before.  '  Scandalous  affair,  the  Buttlers  falling 
back  like  that !  A  battalion — and  what  is  a  battalion 
more  or  less  !  I  would  sacrifice  a  whole  regiment  if  the 
tactical  situation  demanded.  One  cannot  win  battles 
without  loss.'  And  when  some  one  had  mentioned  twelve 
per  cent,  casualties,  he  murmured  :  '  CharmanU  char- 
mant ! '  adding  that  it  was  a  pity  the  idlers  of  the  staff 
never  came  under  fire  themselves.  '  Seem  to  forget  they 
are  at  war  at  all.'  The  Colonel's  divergent  eyes  glanced 
for  a  moment  at  Zillner,  and  the  yellow  face  flushed. 
Zillner  wondered  if  the  other  had  guessed  his  thought. 
After  all,  he  did  not  care. 

The  party  trotted  homewards,  under  a  sky  now  once 
more  safely  devoid  of  little  white  clouds.  In  the  court- 
yard of  the  chateau,  on  the  steps  leading  up  to  the  house, 
stood  a  man  in  civilian  dress,  with  a  grey  cloth  cap,  and 


ir2  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

khaki  puttees,  with  a  camera  and  a  big  compass  slung 
at  his  side.  He  raised  his  cap  and  bowed  poHtely  to  the 
General  as  he  passed  up  the  steps,  and  addressed  him- 
self to  Zillner.  '  Pardon  me — my  name  is  Finkenschlag, 
of  the  United  Press.  I  have  a  recommendation  to  the 
Colonel  from  his  colleague  there,  and  I  should  be  ex- 
tremely obliged  if  you  could  assist  me.  .  .  .' 

'  In  what  way  ?  ' 

'  Well,  if  you  could  put  me  in  the  way  of  a  little 
personal  experience  of  shell  fire.  .  .  .  I  've  never  seen 
so  much  as  a  shrapnel  at  close  quarters.' 

'  But  why  ?  '  Zillner  studied  the  man  with  some 
amusement.  He  was  clean-shaven,  wore  a  gold  pince- 
nez,  and  had  dark  melancholy  eyes. 

'  Well,  you  know,  between  ourselves — ^we  war  corre- 
spondents are  rather  out  of  it  in  this  war.  The  editors 
are  always  asking  for  something  sensational  and  thrilling, 
and  here  we  are  packed  away  ever  so  far  to  the  rear,  and 
never  see  a  thing.' 

*  But  you  write  all  the  same  ?  ' 

*  We  have  to  write  something,  of  course.  But  for  a 
war  correspondent.  ...  I  assure  you,  sir,  we  are  simply 
out  of  it  all.  Give  them  a  little  sentiment  now  and 
again,  the  spirit  of  war,  life  of  the  soldier  in  the  field, 
and  all  that — but  it 's  not  enough.  The  public  want 
more.  May  come  across  a  hero  invalided  from  the 
trenches,  and  interview  him — there  's  always  copy  in 
that,  if  you  know  how  to  handle  it  yourself,  but — well, 
you  don't  get  that  every  day,  and  in  the  meantime, 
we  're  eating  our  heads  off,  doing  simply  nothing.' 

Zillner  slmigged  his  shoulders.  '  I  don't  see  how  I 
can  .  .  .' 

The  pressman  caught  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  whispered 
in  a  tone  of  confidential  entreaty  :  '  I  '11  tell  you  what 
you  could  do.  Get  me  a  permit  for  the  front,  the  real 
front,  you  understand,  where  the  fighting  's  actually 
going  on — shot  and  shell  and  thunder  of  guns,  you  know, 
and  all  that.    And  take  a  few  photos.  .  .  .' 

'  I  '11  speak  to  the  Colonel  about  it,  if  you  like.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  178 

'  Thanks,  thanks.  I  'm  really  eternally  obliged. 
Oh,  it's  a  dog's  life,  I  assure  you  I  ^  You  get  a  wire 
from  the  Chief.  "  Fighting  going  on,  send  some- 
thing real."  And  there  you  are  at  the  rear.  How 
is  a  man  to  .  .  .' 

'  But  for  a  professional  writer,  surely  the 
imagination  .  .  .  ' 

*  No  good,  sir.  You  can't  draw  on  that  indefinitely. 
Make  five  columns  of  print  out  of  half  a  column  of  stuff — 
all  very  well,  but  it 's  not  war  correspondence,  you  know. 
Have  to  be  in  the  thick  of  it,  before  you  can  get  the 
proper  tone.     You  see  what  I  mean  ?  ' 

'  I  understand.     Wait  here  a  moment,  Herr  .  .  .  ?  ' 

'  Finkenschlag.     Finkenschlag  of  the  Grosses  JournaV 

Zillner  turned  to  go.  But  Herr  Finkenschlag  caught 
him  once  more  by  the  sleeve,  and  with  the  other  hand 
drew  out  a  notebook  from  his  pocket.  '  Excuse  me — 
just  one  moment.  We  have  a  special  column  :  *'  Deeds 
of  heroism  at  the  front."  You  haven't  a  deed  or  so  you 
could  let  me  have  ?  Something  brisk  and  thrilling,  in 
the  good  old  Austrian  style,  you  know  what  I  mean  ? 
Think.' 

Zillner  shook  his  head.     '  Afraid  I  can't  oblige  you.' 

'  Oh,  I  'm  sorry.  Nothing  at  all,  you  're  sure  ? 
Nothing  of  your  own,  for  instance  ?  "  Staff  officer's 
race  with  death,"  or  something  like  that  ?  No  ?  Well, 
never  mind.' 

Herr  Finkenschlag  stepped  aside  resignedly,  and 
Zillner  hurried  up  the  steps.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
returned  :  the  Chief  of  Staff  had  considered  the  matter, 
and  in  recognition  of  the  loyal  attitude  hitherto  main- 
tained by  the  press,  which,  on  the  one  hand  .  .  .  while 
on  the  other  hand  .  .  .  etc.,  had  granted  the  desired 
permission.  An  open  letter  authorised  the  war  corre- 
spondent of  the  Grosses  Journal  to  follow  the  operations 
for  three  days,  from  the  headquarters  of  a  divisional 
staff. 

Herr  Finkenschlag  was  profoundly  grateful.  '  Thanks, 
a  thousand  thanks  1    Delighted  to  reciprocate  at  any 


174  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

time.'  And  off  he  drove  in  a  Jew-cart,  with  an  orderly 
oJBficer  as  driver,  to  the  front,  the  real  front,  where  the 
fighting  was  actually  going  on. 

About  noon,  his  Excellency  entered  the  billiard -room, 
glanced  casually  at  the  reports,  inspected  the  work  of 
the  flag-sticking  Prince,  and  walked  up  and  down  for  a 
while  with  his  hands  behind  his  back.  Then  he  took  out 
his  case  and  selected  a  cigarette  ;  the  watchful  Zapperer 
tripped  elegantly  up  and  offered  a  light.  His  Excellency 
blew  smoke  through  his  nose,  and  said  :  '  Ha  ! '  Then 
he  thought  for  a  moment,  and  went  on  :  '  Yes.  In- 
struct the  division.  Collaltos  will  at  once  proceed  to 
recapture  the  position  now  occupied  by  the  enemy  force 
which  got  in  yesterday  on  their  left.  The  attack  to  be 
carried  out  with  the  utmost  energy  and  force  ;  the 
position  to  be  taken  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  I  will 
watch  the  operations  from  the  tower.'  The  little  tin 
trumpets  spoke,  and  the  order  was  passed  on.  .  .  . 

Over  in  the  village  where  the  section  reserves  of  the 
Collaltos  were  at  dinner,  came  a  sudden  stir.  Officers 
hurried  about,  and  the  men  were  called  from  their  meal. 
The  soup  was  emptied  out  from  the  canteens,  a  last 
chunk  of  meat  was  thrust  between  the  teeth,  with  a 
piece  of  bread  to  follow,  and  the  men  hurried  into  the 
outbuildings  for  their  rifles  and  knapsacks,  swallowing 
as  they  ran.  The  battalion  formed  up,  the  Colonel  and 
the  Adjutant  came  hurrying  down  the  village  street, 
both  looking  very  grave. 

'  Battalion  commanders,  if  you  please.' 

A  young  Major,  who  had  arrived  the  day  before  from 
the  '  hinterland,^  with  a  battalion  of  new  recruits,  caught 
the  Colonel's  eye,  and  begged  permission  to  lead  his 
men  to  the  attack. 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him  long  and  earnestly.  Then 
he  nodded. 

'  Forward.     God  with  us ! ' 

The  lines  fluttered  out  in  open  order  over  the  wet 
fields. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  175 

*  The  poplars  there ;  on  to  the  poplars ! '  cried  the  young 
Major.     '  Follow  me  ! ' 

The  storming  party  raced  on  .  .  .  on.  .  .  .  There 
came  a  scornful  rattle  from  the  poplars  :  tatatatata 
— the  infernal  organ  of  the  machine-guns — a  whole 
orchestra. 

The  sturdy,  red -cheeked  fellows  look  and  race 
on,  over  the  drenching  grass ;  the  ground  ahead 
lies  flat  as  a  board  between  them  and  their  goal. 
Volleys,  like  an  avalanche  of  pebbles.  A  ditch — 
down  into  it.  The  lines  disappear,  and  the  men 
halt  under  cover  to  get  their  breath.  The  support- 
ing artillery  sends  futile  missiles  into  the  grey  streak 
by  the  poplars. 

•  •*•••• 

His  Excellency  clambered  up  into  the  belfry  of  the 
church  in  rear  of  the  chateau.  It  was  a  trying  climb. 
There  is  little  to  be  seen  after  all ;  the  distance  is  too 
great.  But  the  General  can  see  that  the  attack  is  at  a 
standstill ;  there  is  no  dark  line  to  be  seen  moving 
forward  over  the  green.  Only  the  bare  field.  And  a 
faint  crackling  of  firing.  His  Excellency  is  displeased. 
What  do  they  mean  by  it  ? 

Out  in  the  ditch,  the  young  Major  sprang  up  with 
flashing  eyes,  and  called  to  his  men,  '  Forward  !  ' 

And  again  they  dashed  on. 

'  Aha  ! '  exclaimed  his  Excellency  in  the  church  tower. 
•  Aha  !     At  last.' 

'  Tatatatatatatatatatatata.' 

A  storm  of  lead  sweeps  over  them  from  the  poplars. 
The  flashing  eyes  grow  dull.  A  soldier's  voice  gasps  out 
once  more  the  last  word,  '  Forward  ! ' — then  chokes  and 
is  dumb. 

The  attacking  column  drops  to  the  ground,  and  is  not 
to  be  forced  on.  And  in  that  bleeding  mass  of  human 
beings,  each  man  whose  heart  still  beats,  whose  arm  can 
still  be  raised  in  answer  to  his  will,  is  digging,  digging 
at  the  earth  to  hack  out  some  shelter  against  the  de- 


176  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

vastating  shower  poured  on  them  from  the  poplars  three 
hundred  yards  away. 

•  •••••• 

'  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  '  grumbled  his  Excellency, 
in  the  church  tower,  to  his  Chief  of  Staff.  '  They  're 
not  getting  on.  They  won't  get  through  at  all,  you  '11 
see.  A  pretty  mess.  Ugh ! '  The  General  felt  him- 
self aggrieved. 

The  recruits  had  received  their  baptism  of  fire.  And 
most  of  them  were  buried  that  same  night  under  the 
alders  outside  the  village.  The  young  Major  and  ten 
officers  were  among  them.  A  mound  of  only  half -slain 
could  be  dragged  off  to  hospital. 

At  the  chateau  in  the  rear,  his  Excellency's  card  party 
was  practically  spoiled  by  the  news  brought  in  by  a 
captured  Russian  infantry  captain.  The  group  under 
the  poplars  would,  he  stated,  have  been  forced  to  sur- 
render within  two  days  at  the  outside,  being  isolated 
from  the  rest,  and  cut  off  from  connection  with  the  rear. 
They  had  already  no  food  left. 

'  Really  most  annoying  ! '  said  his  Excellency.  '  But 
how  were  we  to  know  that  ?  ' 

•  ••»••• 

It  was  now  a  fortnight  since  Zillner  had  been  appointed 
to  the  staff.  He  drew  his  sketch  maps,  accompanied 
his  Excellency  occasionally  on  reconnaissances  ;  for  the 
rest,  he  felt  himself  as  an  alien  in  the  guild  of  creative 
artists.  His  soul  ached  with  the  cold-bloodedness  of 
it  all.  About  him,  high  brows  and  low  worked  away  as 
before,  still  intent  upon  their  lofty  tasks,  but  there  was 
a  nervous  twitching  of  the  eyes  that  one  could  not  fail 
to  note.  The  vertical  furrows  on  their  foreheads  had 
grown  deeper,  and  a  restless  anxiety  hovered  about 
the  room  where  they  sat  at  work.  The  crossing  of  the 
great  river  had  still  to  be  effected  ;  the  enemy  on  the 
farther  bank  stood  entrenched  in  strongly  fortified  posi- 
tions ;  a  brigade  had  attempted  to  cross  on  rafts,  but 
had  been  repulsed  with  terrible  loss.  Pontoons  had 
likewise  proved  of  no  avail.    The  enemy's  artillery  was 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  177 

numerous,  and  had  got  the  range  to  a  nicety ;  any 
attempt  at  engineering  construction  on  the  bank  was 
immediately  destroyed.  The  hostile  forces  lay  in  their 
trenches  on  either  bank,  keeping  up  a  continual  inter- 
change of  fire.  Lidividual  zeal  found  vent  in  the  con- 
tinual sniping  which  generally  takes  place  in  such  a 
position,  but  the  front  remained  unchanged.  The  final 
blow  must  inevitably  be  struck  on  one  of  the  flanks,  and 
both  sides  concentrated  forces  at  either  end  of  their 
line  with  that  end  in  view  ;  in  the  south,  in  the  direction 
of  the  besieged  fortress,^  and  in  the  north. 

Zillner  noted  with  astonishment  that  the  creative 
artists  of  the  staff  unanimously  maintained  the  advisa- 
bility of  holding  the  position  as  it  was,  and  proceeding 
with  operations  from  there.  The  river  was  too  broad 
for  the  lash  of  command  to  force  the  wearied  men  across 
at  a  bound,  but  the  whip  played  over  them  ceaselessly 
all  the  same.  The  drivers  at  the  rear  continued  to  urge 
on  the  wearied  beasts  in  front ;  no  rest,  no  falling  back  ; 
struggle  on  I  If  the  river  could  not  be  crossed  for  the 
present,  then  mark  time.  The  telegraph  ticked,  and  the 
telephones  shouted :  *  Use  every  effort  to  improve  the 
position  meantime.'  All  save  the  men  actually  in  the 
firing  line  were  employed  to  the  limit  of  their  powers  upon 
the  second  line  of  defence.  In  the  daytime,  the  work  here 
was  seriously  disturbed  by  the  enemy's  artillery.  And 
accordingly,  the  telephones  called  for  night  work.  The 
nights  were  to  be  utilised  to  the  utmost.  But  lest  the 
toiling  beasts  should  forget  that  the  need  of  other  exer- 
tion might  arise  at  any  moment,  the  lash  commanded 
regularly  every  day  :  '  Hold  the  troops  in  readiness  to 
advance  at  a  moment's  notice.  An  attempt  will  prob- 
ably be  made  to  cross  to-morrow.' 

*  At  a  moment's  notice.*  That  is  to  say,  the  men  were 
to  fall  in  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  with  full  kit. 
By  eight,  it  was  decided  that  no  attempt  would  be  made 
that  day.  The  men  were  suffered  to  lay  aside  their 
rifles  and  equipment,  and  fall  to  at  their  spade  work 

^  Przemysl. 


178  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

once  more.  Thus  the  whips  in  conclave  in  the  billiard- 
room  decreed,  and  watched  impatiently  for  further 
developments.  The  waggon  had  stuck  fast ;  the  beasts 
that  should  have  hauled  it  forward  without  a  pause  stood 
pawing  the  ground,  with  trembling  limbs  and  heaving 
flanks,  unable  to  move  on.  And  Zillner's  soul  ached  with 
the  cold-bloodedness  of  it  all.  .  .  . 

'  This  is  infernally  slow,  you  know,'  said  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  von  Rechtentan  impatiently,  slapping  the  calf 
of  his  polished  riding  boot.  '  Been  here  a  fortnight  now, 
and  wasting  ammunition  to  no  purpose.  If  I  were  his 
Excellency,  I  'd  give  them  a  touch  of  the  spur.  The 
men  are  getting  demoralised,  and  the  general  ilarif  the 
spirit,  of  the  army,  is  dwindling  to  nothing.  No.  If  it 
lay  with  me,  I  'd  send  a  brigade  with  orders  to  cross  at 
any  cost.  A  regiment  or  two — it  would  be  cheap  at  the 
price.     Then  the  rest  to  follow — ^and  there  you  are.' 

A  flame  of  fire  shot  up  in  Zillner's  heart ;  a  fury  of 
rage  against  this  man  in  the  polished  boots,  so  ready  to 
sacrifice  the  lives  of  others,  so  miserably  careful  of  his 
own.  His  fists  clenched,  and  a  voice  within  him  cried 
out  against  the  mean  little  soul  behind  those  hateful 
eyes  ;  the  man  was  not  worthy  to  unloose  the  shoes  of 
the  poorest  soldier  in  the  ranks  of  those  who  gave  their 
lives  at  his  call.  But  Captain  Zillner,  being  an  obedient 
soldier,  bowed  his  head  over  his  papers,  and  strove  with 
himself,  forcing  himself  not  to  look  at  the  man — ^not  to 
look.  .  .  . 

The  flag-sticking  Prince,  too,  went  about  in  evident 
displeasure.  He  hovered  round  his  big  map,  impatient 
to  make  some  alteration  ;  it  was  disgusting  to  have  the 
lines  there  in  exactly  the  same  place  for  a  whole  fortnight. 
A  whole  fortnight,  and  not  a  move  !  Having  nothing 
else  to  do,  however,  he  generally  drifted  across  to  the 
stables,  and  occupied  himself  teaching  his  thoroughbreds 
to  pick  lumps  of  sugar  neatly  from  between  his  lips.  And 
here  he  might  encounter  the  equally  voluntary  motorist, 
yawning  beside  his  eighty  horse-power  car. 

*  Ah,    my    dear    Loebl — dreadfully    dull,    isn't    it  ? 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  179 

War 's  really  not  so  exciting  as  they  say.  Wonder 
what  they  're  doing  at  the  Jockey  Club  now  ?  If  this 
beastly  business  doesn't  finish  soon,  there  '11  be  nobody 
left  to  take  a  hand  at  poker  when  we  get  back.' 

'  Rotten  time,'  agreed  his  companion  in  adversity. 
And  the  two  hung  about  in  company,  listening  idly  to 
the  distant  mutter  of  the  guns. 

•  •••••• 

One  morning  the  Russian  batteries  fell  to  bombarding 
some  farmhouses  where  the  reserves  were  quartered, 
and  set  them  on  fire.  There  seemed  to  be  a  certain 
method  in  the  operation,  for  houses  where  there  were  no 
troops  were  spared.  The  question  was  debated  at  length 
during  dinner,  but  finally  his  Excellency  gave  his  casting 
vote  for  the  theory  that  it  was  merely  coincidence.  And 
the  heads  of  the  staff  bowed  gracefully  in  assent.  The 
squinting  Colonel  was  particularly  anxious  to  appear 
of  the  same  opinion,  as  was  also  Zapperer,  whose  face 
put  on  an  expression  which  would  have  done  for  St. 
John  listening  to  the  voice  of  his  Master.  .  .  . 

That  evening  Zillner  went  down  into  the  village.  The 
little  houses  on  either  side  of  the  street  were  wrapped  in 
darkness,  with  no  sign  of  life  or  movement,  save  for  the 
willows  and  alders  whispering  sorrowfully  up  to  the 
dark  sky.  Close  by,  a  dog  was  baying  into  the  silence, 
and  from  the  river  came  a  continual  faint  drizzle  of 
musketry.  Zillner  felt  the  strife  in  his  soul  anew. 
Voices  that  had  been  silent  for  many  days  wakened  now, 
thronged  in  upon  him,  crying  aloud  to  him  out  of  the 
dark,  as  on  the  day  when  Karl  Albert  Kraft  had  driven 
a  shaft  of  light  down  to  the  sunless  mazes  of  his  con- 
sciousness. Have  faith,  and  never  lose  it ! — it  was  the 
only  way.  Ah,  yes — those  days  had  been  bright  enough ; 
he  had  thought  his  doubts  at  rest  once  and  for  all,  had 
seen  the  radiant  bow  set  in  the  east.  And  no  other 
thought  had  troubled  the  concentration  of  his  purpose  : 
have  faith  1  With  an  intense,  calm  happiness,  such  as 
he  had  not  known  even  in  that  grandly  victorious 
August  afternoon,  he  had  dreamed  on — on  through  all 


180  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

the  misery  and  death  and  burning  desolation,  into  the 
wonder  of  the  rainbow  itself,  until — ^until  the  day  when 
he  had  come  into  all  this.  This  palace,  where  senseless 
pride,  coupled  with  a  vain  energy  and  an  extravagant 
prodigality  of  human  lives,  united  to  destroy  the  cost- 
liest element  that  still  remained  to  those  suffering 
masses  of  men ;  the  generous,  unhesitating  instinct  of 
self-sacrifice. 

The  sceptic  voices  rang  in  his  ears  anew — ^and  this 
time  his  soldier  spirit  had  no  longer  the  power  to  silence 
them.  Faintly  he  bade  them  cease  ;  he  would  hold  by 
his  faith  to  the  last ;  die  it  might  be,  but  hope  to  the 
very  last.  And  the  voices  were  silenced  for  a  moment. 
Then  one  keen  scornful  whisper  began  again  :  '  Incur- 
able optimist ;  still  dancing  on  the  rope  of  a  foolish 
faith  ?  Which  is  the  better  thing  :  Prince  Rabenegg's 
thoroughbred  or  the  lives  of  ten  unknown  soldiers  ? 
Which  is  the  greater,  which  would  be  the  deeper  loss  ? 
The  man  would  mourn  for  his  horse,  but  over  the  grave 
of  the  fallen  soldiers  not  even  a  breath  of  thanks  would 
acknowledge  their  sacrifice.  Consider,  the  beast  is  a 
trained  irreplaceable  creature,  a  virtuoso,  able  to  execute 
wonders  of  technique  upon  the  course.  And  the  ten 
men — ^what  are  they  ?  Human  beings,  and  that  is  all  I 
The  next  draft  from  the  depot  will  bring  twenty  for  each 
of  them,  but  who  is  to  replace  the  horse  ?  Incurable 
optimist,'  the  voice  went  on,  '  rope-dancing  fool !  who 
bade  your  heart  suffer  with  those  poor  nameless  ones  ? 
Once  you,  too,  spoke  of  War  as  the  great  deliverer,  that 
should  clear  away  the  pettiness  of  the  too  easy  days,  and 
call  up  greater  things  in  its  stead.  War  !  In  times  of 
peace,  even  the  meanest  unit  in  the  crowd  is  carried  to 
the  grave  with  kindly  words.  But  here — your  great 
deliverer  thrusts  heroes  unnumbered  into  the  common 
grave  and  covers  them  callously  in  haste.  Quicklime  is 
their  portion,  there  are  no  laurels  for  those  who  fall  in 
the  service  of  the  great  deliverer.'  But  Zillner's  soul 
roused  itself  and  cried  :  '  You  lie.  They  live,  and  are 
not  forgotten.'    '  True,'  returned  the  whisper  scorn- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  181 

fully.  '  The  phrase  will  dig  up  here  and  there  a  corpse, 
cover  it  with  spangled  trappings,  and  hang  bells  upon 
it  to  ring  out  the  story  of  great  deeds  .  .  .  put  into  his 
mouth  words  that  he  never  spoke  or  thought,  raise 
him  on  stilts  that  he  himself  had  never  needed,  and  lo, 
a  picture  for  the  patriotic  Children's  Reader  1  One 
of  t^e  many  may  be  dealt  with  thus.  But  the  rest  ? 
They  may  lie  there  in  their  thousands,  and  rot  unknown. 

Zillner  wrung  his  hands,  raised  them  in  agonised  appeal 
towards  heaven,  stared  out  into  the  wilderness  of  the 
dark,  and  cried,  '  Help  me,  my  God  ! ' 

And  lo,  a  star  shone  out.  A  star  low  in  the  sky,  and 
near.  He  gazed  at  it  in  wonder.  A  star — in  a  sky 
black  with  cloud.  One  star  in  all  the  firmament — and 
now  ?  What  could  it  mean  ?  The  light  died  out. 
Then  suddenly  it  was  there  again — gone — again — ^again 
...  in  little  flashes,  longer  flashes.  .  .  . 

It  was  the  Morse  code.  Dots  and  dashes  perse veringly 
flashed  through  the  darkness.  There,  on  the  church 
tower,  was  that  wondrous  star,  flashing  out  dots  and 
dashes  into  the  light. 

Zillner  hurried  to  the  guard-house,  called  out  a  patrol, 
and  set  off  at  once  towards  the  church.  The  door  lead- 
ing to  the  stairway  was  ajar,  a  verger  stood  within.  He 
turned  to  run  up  the  stairs  as  the  soldiers  entered,  but 
Zillner  caught  him  by  the  shoulder.  '  Silence  !  Or  .  .  .' 
he  pointed  to  the  bayonets  of  his  men.  Then,  beckoning 
to  the  corporal  to  follow,  he  ascended  the  winding  stair. 
The  belfry  was  in  darkness  ;  Zillner  took  out  his  pocket 
lamp,  and  flashed  it  round  the  place.  And  there, 
huddled  up  in  a  comer,  was  the  village  priest. 
.  '  Ah,  a  reverend  man  at  his  prayers.  At  prayers, 
were  you  not  ?  ' 

'  Mercy !  For  the  sake  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  .  .  . 
mercy,  mercy  I '  cried  the  priest,  holding  his  hands  before 
his  ashen  face.     He  was  a  portly  man  of  about  fifty. 

Zillner  searched  the  floor  with  his  lamp  ;  the  lantern 
had  disappeared. 

'  What  have  you  done  with  it  ?    Where  is  that  Star 


182  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

of  Bethlehem  you  had  set  in  the  sky  to  guide  the 
Russians  ?    Eh  ?  ' 

'  Mercy,  I  did  not  .  .  .  Heaven  have  mercy.  .  .  . 
Oh  .  .  .  '  And  the  shepherd  of  souls  fell  on  his  knees 
as  if  in  prayer. 

Zillner  stepped  back  and  looked  at  the  man  as  he 
knelt.  '  Heaven  is  not  merciful  to  traitors,'  he  said 
sternly,  and  trembling  with  passion.  '  Where  is  the 
lantern  ?  Bring  it  out  or  .  .  .  Do  you  wish  to  die 
on  the  spot  ?  ' 

The  huddled  figure  moaned.  '  Holy  Virgin,  help  me ! ' 
He  fumbled  with  shaking  fingers  at  the  buttons  of  his 
frock,  and  drew  out  an  acetylene  cycle  lamp,  with  a 
movable  cardboard  shade. 

'  I  see.'  Zillner  held  out  the  darkened  star  at  arm's 
length.  '  You  have  been  telegraphing  texts  from  Holy 
Scripture,  that  is  all  ?  ' 

The  traitor's  eyes  brightened  for  a  moment  with 
something  like  a  gleam  of  hope.  This  terrible  officer  was 
jesting — he  smiled.  .  .  .  Perhaps,  after  all.  .  .  . 

He  plucked  up  courage.  '  I  swear  by  the  living  God — 
I  was  only  asking  my  colleague  in  the  next  village — ^to — 
to  come  and  dine  with  me — ^yes,  to  dine  with  me  on 
Sunday.     I  am  a  good  Austrian,  I  swear  it.  .  .  .' 

A  strong  hand  grasped  him  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck, 
and  thrust  him  towards  the  window  opening  that  faced 
towards  the  river. 

'  We  can  see  what  he  says  then,'  retorted  Zillner 
grimly.  On  the  other  side,  a  like  star  flashed  and  faded, 
flashed  and  faded  ;  a  tiny  speck  busily  coming  and 
going.  The  Russians  were  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
interruption  of  their  pleasant  conversation. 

'  Mercy,  mercy  I     I  swear  by  the  living  God  .  .  .' 

'  Enough  I  Down — ^this  way,  sharp  ! '  And  Zillner 
thrust  the  man  of  God  before  him  down  the  stairs. 

His  Excellency  was  most  indignant  on  learning  of  the 
little  intermezzo.  Of  course,  it  explained  several  little 
things  that  had  occurred  lately — the  bombarding  of  the 
farmhouses,  for  instance,  which  had  been  conducted  with 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  188 

such  surprising  precision.  The  priest  and  his  verger 
were  brought  up  for  examination  the  same  night.  The 
house  was  ransacked,  and  a  whole  arsenal  of  Russian 
firearms  discovered,  with  a  huge  store  of  provisions  ; 
apparatus  for  a  subterranean  telegraph  connection  was 
found  in  the  cellar.  The  traitors  were  convicted  on  the 
spot,  and  next  morning  set  up  against  the  churchyard 
wall  and  shot.  The  priest  himself  had  to  be  tied  to  a 
tree ;  he  would  not  stand,  but  rolled  about  on  the 
ground,  curled  up  like  a  hedgehog,  refusing  to  look  death 
in  the  face.  Both  of  them  died  as  miserable  cowards, 
with  the  name  of  the  Crucified  on  their  lips. 

The  same  day  a  lengthy  proclamation  was  distilled 
in  the  billiard -room,  by  the  united  efforts  of  many 
zealous  minds,  and  addressed  to  all  the  authorities  whom 
it  might  concern.  The  unpleasant  episode  itself  was 
briefly  referred  to,  but  the  conclusions  to  be  drawn 
therefrom  were  dwelt  upon  most  earnestly.  Much  was 
said  about  the  manner  in  which  treachery  had  of  late 
ventured  boldly  to  raise  its  head  ;  how  this  was  due  to 
the  lack  of  sufficiently  rigorous  preventive  measures 
which  were  of  vital  importance  to  an  army  in  the  field, 
attention  was  called  to  the  necessity  of  inflexible  stern- 
ness on  the  one  hand  .  .  .  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  sense  of  responsibility  ...  it  would  be  culpable, 
again,  to  risk  disaster  by  over-credulity  .  .  .  the 
strictest  examination  into  every  case  where  any  sus- 
picion had  arisen  .  .  .  the  keenest  watchfulness  under 
all  circumstances  where  any  such  cases  might  arise  .  .  . 
officers  to  act  with  discretion,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  be  constantly  on  their  guard,  and  unhesitatingly 
pursue  any  indication  tending  .  .  .  etc. 

Thus  the  treachery  of  the  priest  was  dealt  with  to  the 
best  advantage. 

That  afternoon,  Lieutenant-Colonel  von  Rechtentan 
came  striding  in  angrily,  evidently  in  the  highest  dis- 
pleasure. '  Unheard  of  I '  he  cried.  '  Altogether  be- 
yond  precedent  I     Company    officers,    if   you    please, 


184  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

venturing  to  discuss  and  criticise  the  orders  they  receive. 
A  nice  state  of  things  I ' 

Furrowed  brows  were  lifted  from  their  work,  and 
paper-wearied  eyes  looked  up  inquiringly.  Von  Rech- 
tentan  squinted  sharply  across  at  Zillner,  who  sat  bent 
over  his  sketching  as  before.  '  Unheard  of,  gentlemen  I 
I  had  gone  out,  at  his  Excellency's  request,  to  inspect 
the  second  line  of  defence  occupied  by  Kravicek's 
brigade.  In  the  Buttlers'  section,  I  noticed  several 
of  the  captains  standing  in  a  group  by  the  trenches — 
there  was  a  major  with  them  too.  And  then,  slipping 
unperceived  behind  a  bush,  I  heard — ^well,  I  can  only 
say  the  most  scandalous  conversation  that  could  be 
irfiagined.'  The  listeners  pricked  up  their  ears ;  Zapperer 
composed  his  mobile  features  into  an  expression  d  la 
NapoUon  writing  the  death-warrant  of  the  traitors. 
Von  Rechtentan  went  on  :  '  They  were  discussing  us, 
if  you  please.  One  of  the  captains,  who  seemed  to  be 
.  the  ringleader,  ventured  to  express  the  opinion  that  the 
constant  state  of  preparation  was  merely  a  ridiculous 
nuisance.  Our  dispositions  he  was  pleased  to  regard  as 
an  eternal  fumbling  about  in  the  dark.  And  then — I 
give  you  the  fellow's  very  words  :  "  All  this  about 
probably  attempting  to  cross  to-morrow  is  either  bottle- 
green  humbug,  to  keep  the  men  from  ever  getting  a 
moment's  rest,  or  it 's  just  pure  lunacy.  If  the  bottle- 
greens  really  think  anything  can  ever  be  done  after 
their  last  fiasco  " — ^and  the  others  agreed.  Fiasco  !  .  .  . 
humbug  !  That  is  the  way  these  ignorant  idlers  in  the 
trenches  venture  to  speak  of  our  dispositions,  while  we 
are  devoting  our  whole  energy  and  intelligence  to  the 
conduct  of  the  campaign.     It 's  simply  abominable  ! ' 

The  energetic  and  intelligent  listeners  expressed  their 
indignation.  '  Ab9minable  indeed  ! '  said  the  puffy- 
faced  young  man. 

Von  Rechtentan  went  on,  fixing  his  eyes  sternly  upon 
Zillner.  '  It  would  be  well  if  the  blockheads  could  be 
taught,  once  and  for  all,  that  their  inferior  minds  are 
not  called  upon  to  criticise  the  actions  of  their  superiors 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  185 

in  the  scientific  conduct  of  the  war.  I  would  have 
them  brought  before  a  court-martial  on  the  spot.  A 
firing  party — that  is  the  only  way  to  deal  with  would-be 
critics  of  that  sort.  Shoot  them  down,  and  serve  them 
right.  The  army  is  the  instrument  appointed  to  carry 
out  the  plans  conceived  by  a  higher  intelligence — not  to 
dispute  them.' 

Once  more  the  divergent  eyes  sought  Zillner's,  and 
this  time  the  Captain  met  their  glance.  Zillner  sprang 
to  his  feet,  and  his  face  flushed  darkly.  '  I  would  respect- 
fully beg  you,  sir,  not  to  speak  in  that  manner  of  the 
troops  to  which  I  have  the  honour  to  belong.' 

*  Indeed,  sir  ?  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  identify 
yourself  with  officers  who  presume  to  criticise  their 
superiors  ?  '  The  Colonel  folded  his  arms,  and  stared 
superciliously  at  the  upstart.  '  You  take  their  part — 
very  well.' 

'  I  merely  wish  to  point  out,  sir,  that  the  men  you 
speak  of  are  neither  blockheads  nor  ignorant  idlers,  but 
brave  and  devoted  soldiers  who  are  not  afraid  to  .  .  .' 

'  To  question  the  dispositions  of  the  General  Staff  ?  ' 

'  The  General  Staff,  sir,  may  devote  its  energy  and 
intelligence  to  the  service — they  give  their  lives.  And 
men  who  give  their  lives  may  well  be  tempted  to  ask 
what  is  to  be  done  with  them.     It  is  only  natural.' 

'  It  may  seem  natural  to  you,  sir.  I  call  it  un- 
military.' 

'  The  lives  of  men  have  been  wasted  like  water 
through  this  campaign.  It  is  hard  on  those  who  are 
willing  to  die — they  ask  to  be  led,  not  merely  sacrificed.' 

'  May  I  ask  what  you  mean  by  that,  sir  ?  ' 

'  I  am  merely  trying  to  explain  what  it  is  that  tempts 
men  to  that  freedom  of  speech  for  which  you,  sir,  would 
have  them  shot.  And  I  would  ask  you,  with  all  respect, 
what  should  then  be  done  with  the  leaders  who  do  not 
lead,  but  only  sacrifice  those  under  them  ?  ' 

Zillner  had  spoken  calmly  and  slowly,  and  stood  now 
coldly  awaiting  the  other's  answer.  The  superb  intelli- 
gence looked  on  in  tense  excitement.    Zapperer  hs^d 


186  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

adopted  the  pose  of  a  Roman  centurion  :    '  Crucify 
himi' 

The  Colonel  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  said  sharply: 
'  I  do  not  care  to  pursue  the  discussion,  thank  you.  I 
am  a  plain  soldier,  and  not  accustomed  to  deal  with 
socialistic  sophistries.  But,  after  what  has  passed,  I 
hardly  think  that  your  services  here  will  be  .  .  .' 

Zilhier  smiled.  '  You  need  not  trouble,  sir.  I  shall 
apply  at  once  to  be  sent  back  to  my  regiment.'  He 
bowed,  and  left  the  room. 

The  intelligent  brows  bent  over  their  work  once  more, 
a  trifle  more  earnestly  than  usual.  The  puffy-faced 
young  man  bowed  and  scraped,  anxious  to  place  his 
disapproval  of  the  heresy  beyond  all  doubt.  '  Most 
extraordinary  —  incomprehensible !  .  .  .  But,  thanks 
to  the  Colonel's  resolute  action  .  .  .  silenced  com-^ 
pletely.  .  .  .' 

Zapperer  looked  towards  the  resolute  suppressor  of 
heresy  as  on  a  glorious  vision.  Pose  this  time  :  *  St. 
Sebastian,  pierced  with  arrows,  sees  the  heavens 
open !  • 

Zillner  hurried  at  once  to  the  Chief  of  Staff,  recounted 
briefly  what  had  passed,  and  begged  to  return  to  his 
regiment.     The  order  was  made  out  on  the  spot. 

,  Dinner  that  day  was  not  a  cheerful  meal.  His  com- 
panions treated  him  with  an  icy  reserve.  His  Excel- 
lency himself  must  have  been  informed  already  ;  Zillner 
fancied  that  the  General,  despite  his  easy  manner  as  a 
man  of  the  world,  glanced  at  him  now  and  again  with 
displeasure.  The  flag-sticking  Prince  was  the  only  one 
who  appeared  undisturbed  ;  he  chatted  with  the  out- 
cast in  that  tone  of  untroubled  calm  which  Austrian 
nobles  can  maintain  even  in  the  most  difficult  situation, 
and  which  renders  them  so  admirably  suited  for  a  diplo- 
matic career.  With  delicate  tact  he  avoided  touching 
upon  any  theme  which  might  bring  out  a  difference  of 
opinion. 

'  Sons  mot  dire,  you  know,  a  boeuf  hraisS  d  la  reine  is 
quite  a  different  thing.    This  is  a  beefsteak  pure  and 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  187 

simple.  Take  the  sauce,  for  instance.  Can  you,  my 
dear  fellow,  honestly  discern  the  faintest  soupQon  of 
Bordeaux  in  it  at  all  ?  And  that,  really,  is  the  point 
of  the  whole  thing.  Beef  gravy  is  one  thing — d  la  reine 
is  another.  But  that  fool  of  a  cook  has  the  impertinence 
to  serve  it  up  all  the  same.  Really  it  is  almost  enough 
to  try  one's  patience.  .  .  .  boeuf  d  la  reine  ! ' 


f 


CHAPTER  XI 

Colonel  Peter  Prapora  was  by  no  means  pleased  at 
his  subordinate's  return.  The  friendly  and  confidential 
tone  in  which  he  had  notified  him  of  his  appointment  was 
gone.  '  I  am  extremely  surprised,  Captain  Zillner,  that 
any  officer  of  my  regiment  could  conduct  himself  so 
unsatisfactorily  in  a  post  of  honour.  Your  words  to 
Lieutenant-Colonel  von  Rechtentan  were  altogether 
lacking  in  respect,  and  had  better,  under  any  circum- 
stances, have  been  left  unsaid.  I  must  express  my 
extreme  disapproval  of  the  action  you  saw  fit  to  take. 
It  bears  witness  to  a  turn  of  mind  which  I  must  confess 
I  had  never  suspected  in  you  ;  for  the  future,  I  shall  feel 
it  my  duty  to  observe  your  behaviour.  I  need  hardly 
say  that  any  repetition  of  such  scenes  will  be  productive 
of  very  serious  consequences  to  yourself.  Thank  you — 
you  may  go.' 

Ma 3  or  Blagorski  was  disappointed .  '  My  dear  Zillner, ' 
he  said  reproachfully,  '  what  on  earth  have  you  been 
doing  ?  The  Colonel  is  furious.  And  he  will  be  down  on 
you,  and  on  the  whole  battalion,  in  consequence.  It 's 
really  very  awkward — ^very  awkward  indeed.' 

Pfustermeyer  and  Grill  shook  hands  sympathetically ; 
the  former  was  unfeigned ly  pleased  to  see  him.  '  Glad 
to  have  you  back  again,'  he  said  warmly.  '  Quite  under- 
stand you  didn't  care  to  stay.  I  would  have  done  the 
same  thing  myself.  Much  better  leave  the  bottle-greens 
to  themselves.  They  're  a  superior  lot,  and  we  're  only 
common  soldiers.  But  what  says  Schiller :  '  Wir 
haben  die  MW  und  die  Schmerzen,  und  wofiir  wir  uns 
halten  in  unseren  Rerzen''  You  did  the  right  thing, 
my  dear  fellow.' 

Grill  took  the  matter  with  characteristic  calm.    '  Not 

188 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  189 

the  wisest  you  could  have  done  perhaps,  but  still,  it 
wasn't  half  bad.     Do  them  good.' 

Crlenjak  was  not  there  ;  it  was  his  turn  in  the  front 
line  trenches,  and  he  had  been  out  for  five  days  by  the 
river  bank. 

'  You  are  to  relieve  him  to-morrow,'  said  Grill.  *  It 
is  down  in  battalion  orders  already.  It 's  no  picnic," 
I  can  tell  you,  sitting  out  there  for  a  week  at  a  time  in 
the  mud.' 

Zillner  was  not  dismayed  at  the  thought.  After  all, 
he  was  a  soldier  once  more.  Let  the  Prince  amuse  him- 
self with  his  little  flags,  and  Zapperer  take  over  the  map 
department  again,  and  the  rest  of  them  sit  and  sweat 
at  their  little  taloles — it  was  better  to  be  a  soldier. 
He  went  over  to  his  company.  The  grimy,  bearded, 
haggard  faces  smiled  in  welcome  to  their  captain. 
Little  Andrei  came  hurrying  out  from  his  quarters.  '  I  'm 
awfully  glad,  sir,  really — if  I  may  say  so.'  And  Spicka 
and  Prager  came  too.  '  Why,  gentlemen,  here  I  am 
again,  and  glad  to  be  back.  I  hope  we  may  remain 
together  for  the  future.' 

The  colour-sergeant  hurried  up,  drew  out  a  neatly 
bound  notebook,  and  proceeded  to  give  the  news  of  the 
past  few  days.  Some  new  recruits  had  come  in  ;  twenty- 
six  of  them  to  Company  Four,  besides  two  gendarmes. 
Five  of  the  'old  guard '  had  fallen,  over  by  the  river — 
shot  through  the  head  while  in  the  trenches.  The 
company  now  counted  a  hundred  and  forty  men.* 
There  was  some  cholera  about ;  there  had  been  vaccina- 
tion the  day  before.  None  of  their  company  had  shown 
symptoms  as  yet,  but  twelve  men  of  the  second  battalion 
had  died.  General  health  pretty  fair  ;  a  little  typhus, 
that  was  all.  But  the  bread  was  very  bad — most  of  it 
absolutely  rotten.  The  division  supplies  were  short, 
and  there  was  only  a  Uttle  flour,  and  that  poor,  to  be  had 
in  the  village.  The  men  really  didn't  get  enough  to  eat. 
But  perhaps — the  colour-sergeant  hesitated — perhaps 
the  Captain  could  manage  something.  .  .  . 
^  Instead  of  two  hundred  and  fifty. 


190  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

So  Zillner  found  himself  once  more  immersed  in  the 
endless  administrative  details  of  his  command  ;  a  sea 
of  troublesome  little  matters  in  which  a  company  com- 
mander at  the  front  will  sink  hopelessly  if  he  have  not 
the  head  and  heart  to  keep  himself  up.  It  needed,  too, 
an  iron  will.  And  Zillner  was  not  lacking  in  that  respect. 
His  heart  went  out  to  these  poor  grimy  fellows,  who  were 
tractable  as  children  if  only  they  were  decently  treated. 
He  often  felt  as  if  they  had  given  their  hearts  into  his 
hand,  young  and  old,  with  a  touching  confidence,  that 
begged  him  to  deal  kindly  with  them.  'We  are  only 
poor  ignorant  fellows,'  they  seemed  to  say,  '  and  you 
are  our  leader.  Do  not  trample  on  us,  but  be  kind,  and 
we  will  bless  you,  and  follow  where  you  will.'  For  three 
months  now  Zillner  had  been  gradually  gaining  the 
hearts  of  his  men  :  he  had  lived  with  them  through 
weary  nights,  and  faced  death  by  their  side.  And  now 
they  gathered  about  him  once  more,  asking  his  sym- 
pathy, and  offering  their  devotion. 

Zillner  could  not  help  feeling  that  way  about  his  men. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  a  fancy  of  his,  but  still.  .  .  .  He 
could  look  into  their  eyes,  and  see  that  they  did  not  lie. 
Only  poor  devils  in  the  ranks,  with  little  between  them 
and  death — if  their  eyes  lit  up  because  their  Captain 
had  come  back,  what  could  it  mean  but  that  they  were 
honestly  glad  to  see  him  ?  And  that  light  in  their  eyes 
was  more  precious  to  him  than  all  the  laurels  and  heroics 
of  official  recognition,  which,  after  all,  springs  but  from 
cold  brains.  That  light  in  the  eyes  of  his  men  was  some- 
thing which  not  all  the  official  orders  ever  issued  could 
command.  And  it  gladdened  him  to  see.  Suddenly 
he  remembered  the  new-comers — six-and-twenty  cower- 
ing little  souls  full  of  instinctive  distrust.  He  would  go 
and  see  what  he  could  make  of  them  at  once. 

The  recruits  fell  in,  standing  stiffly  upright,  with 
fingers  rigidly  extended  down  behind  their  trouser 
pockets,  and  eyes  staring  blankly  and  strainedly  to 
their  front.  One  of  them,  a  front-rank  man,  second 
from  the  farther  end — ^where  had  he  seen  that  face  be- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  191 

fore  ?  A  pale,  nervous  face,  with  restless  features  and 
black  curling  hair.  He  stepped  up  to  the  man,  who  was 
staring  blankly  before  him  under  his  ridiculous  regulation 
cap. 

'  What  is  your  name,  my  man  ?  ' 

'  Johann  Nimmersatt.' 

The  dreamy  blue  eyes  still  stared  straight  to  the 
front.  And  suddenly  Zillner  remembered.  This  was 
the  fellow  who  ... 

'  I  have  seen  you  before,'  he  said.  *  You  made  a 
speech  at  the  Grabencafe  in  Vienna,  on  the  night  of  the 
2nd  of  August  ?  ' 

'  Yes.    They  threw  me  out.' 

Zillner  dismissed  the  rest,  and  bade  this  man  stay 
behind.  '  Strange,  your  turning  up  here,'  he  said. 
The  man  made  no  answer.  '  I  don't  know,  of  course. 
You  may  have  changed  your  mind  since  then.  But, 
in  any  case — no  more  speeches  of  that  kind,  if  you 
please,  among  your  comrades  here.  You  understand 
me?' 

The  dreamy  blue  eyes  turned  reluctantly  back  to 
earth,  and  looked  into  his  with  a  steady  fire.  '  Herr 
Haupimann — I  have  not  changed.  I  think  to-day  as  I 
did  then.  I  can't  help  it.  I  hate  it — this  massacre  by 
order.' 

'  That 's  nonsense,  my  man.  Don't  let  yourself  be 
led  away  by  catchwords.  There  are  things  in  the  world 
that  neither  you  nor  I  can  alter,  whatever  we  may  feel. 
But,  mark  me — if  I  find  you  preaching  that  sort  of  thing 
here — if  you  attempt  to  influence  the  men — ^you  will  be 
severely  punished.' 

The  boy's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  his  lips  trembled. 
*  I  won't,'  he  whispered — '  won't  say  a  word.  I  '11  do 
my  duty,  like  the  rest,  and  go  out  and  murder  as  my 
brothers  here  must  do,  but  I  shall  hate  it  in  my  soul ; 
hate  and  curse  the  war,  and  nothing  can  make  me  feel 
differently.'  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
burst  out :  *  They  are  my  brothers — and  I  love  them  all.' 
His  knees  and  hands  trembled,  and  his  voice  was  broken 


192  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

with  sobs.  '  Herr  Haupimann,  do  not  suspect  me. 
...  I  will  do  my  duty — ndo  it  all  ...  ' 

Zillner  laid  a  hand  encouragingly  on  his  shoulder. 
*  There,  I  trust  you,  then.  And  now  pull  yourself  to- 
gether, like  a  man.' 

Zillner  felt  the  passion  that  burned  in  this  young  soul 
lay  hold  upon  his  own.  Here  was  a  man  in  whose  mind 
another  world  had  come  into  conflict  with  his  own  ;  the 
world  whose  scaffolding  had  been  raised  two  thousand 
years  before,  by  a  carpenter's  Son,  and  which  had  not 
reached  beyond. 

'  Gk)  along  now  to  your  quarters  ;   I  trust  you.' 

The  young  man  whispered  a  word  of  thanks  and  went. 

A  new  thought  dawned  slowly  upon  Zillner 's  mind. 
Those  two  worlds — they  were  not  irreconcilable  after  all. 
They  met  and  touched  at  a  single  point — in  love  for  the 
poor  and  weak  ones  of  the  earth.  Might  not  he  himself, 
searching  into  the  depths  of  his  heart,  find  there,  pro- 
fessional soldier  that  he  was,  the  same  conviction  that 
burned  in  the  heart  of  this  poor  conscript  ?  No,  it  was 
too  ridiculous  I  Their  worlds  were  far  removed.  Had 
not  he  but  lately  confirmed  his  faith  in  all  that  the  other 
hated  ?  True,  he  loved  the  poor  and  weak,  as  this  boy 
did,  and  hated  the  unfeeling  hearts  that  sacrificed  them 
in  vain.  But  there  was  a  difference.  The  sacrifice 
itself  was  to  his  mind  a  natural  necessity,  ancient  and 
lasting  as  himaanity  itself.  He  knew  that  the  country 
called  for  blood  upon  its  altars,  that  it  might  grow  rich 
and  powerful ;  his  anger  was  against  the  High  Priests, 
the  Pharisees,  and  hypocrites,  who  led  their  victims 
heedlessly,  fruitlessly  to  the  slaughter.  No,  the  thought 
was  absurd,  he  would  not  harbour  it.  But  it  did  not 
leave  him ;  only  crept  into  hiding  in  the  depths. 
Thoughts  that  once  have  risen  in  the  mind  cannot  die  ; 
they  can  at  most  be  laid  aside  as  mummied  things.  And 
when  the  hour  comes,  they  wake  again,  looking  out  with 
insolent  or  humble  eyes,  as  it  may  be. 

The  time  came  round  for  Zillner  to  relieve  the  little 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  198 

Captain  in  his  trenches.  It  was  a  cold,  moonlight 
evening.  Silently,  with  the  scabbards  of  their  bayonets 
muffled  in  straw,  the  men  marched  out  through  the 
shimmering  meadows  towards  the  belt  of  thicket  that 
stood  like  a  black  wall  in  front  of  the  river. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  sound  of  musketry,  de- 
sultory firing  from  patrols  exchanging  shots.  Day  and 
night  it  went  on,  and  the  men  had  grown  so  used  to  the 
sound  that  they  noticed  it  as  little  as  the  ticking  of  a 
clock.  It  was  only  when  the  posts  were  relieved  that 
greater  caution  was  necessary  ;  as  soon  as  the  Russians 
perceived  a  detachment  moving  out,  they  flooded  the 
whole  of  the  ground  with  a  furious  fire.  The  reliefs, 
therefore,  were  invariably  sent  out  by  night,  for  the  flat 
country  offered  no  cover.  Quietly  the  foremost  ranks 
slipped  into  the  shelter  of  the  willows.  Bullets  were 
dropping  close  by.  Down,  and  listen  !  No — only  shots 
intended  for  the  trenches  on  ahead,  that  had  passed 
beyond  their  mark. 

'  Forward  ! '  A  few  steps  more  through  the  thicket 
on  the  river  bank,  and  then  down  into  the  communica- 
tion trench.  Along  this  they  moved,  bending  down  to 
keep  under  cover,  and  reached  the  full  depth  of  the  front 
line  trenches.  A  little  in  front  lay  the  gleaming  line 
of  the  river  itself. 

The  withered  mannikin  came  hobbling  painfully  out 
to  meet  his  relief.  '  Here  you  are  !  No  news  from 
over  there.  As  for  me,  no  better.  That  infernal  gout — 
I  can  hardly  walk.  It 's  beastly  wet  here.'  Crlenjak 
led  the  way  along  the  trench.  '  Bend  down,  you  're  tall 
for  this  work.  Ajad  they  've  got  their  eye  in  now — ^plenty 
of  practice.' 

The  warning  was  well-timed.  Bullets  swept  sharply 
over  the  breastwork,  and  buried  themselves  with  a  dull 
thud  in  the  earth  behind.  The  little  man  clambered 
up  to  a  slit  in  the  bank.  '  I  've*  got  the  observation 
post  here — there  's  a  good  view  across.  The  Russians 
are  right  on  the  other  bank,  about  four  hundred  paces.' 

He  pointed  out  the  enemy's  line,  standing  out  sharply 

N 


194  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

in  the  moonlight.     '  The  days  are  long,  brother — take 
it  as  coolly  as  you  can.     Good  night  I ' 

The  little  Captain  hobbled  off,  followed  by  his  men, 
and  Zillner  proceeded  to  install  himself  in  his  new  posi- 
tion. A  strange  life  !  Three  nights  ago  he  had  been 
lying  in  a  soft  bed  with  a  silken  coverlet ;  now,  huddled 
up  like  a  mole  in  the  wet  earth.  He  posted  his  men, 
sent  off  patrols  to  either  flank  to  make  connection  with 
the  neighbouring  lines,  and  telephoned  back  to  battalion 
headquarters  that  he  had  taken  over  the  section.  The 
men  crept  into  the  straw-lined  dug-outs,  curled  them- 
selves up,  and  were  soon  snoring.  The  officers  stayed  by 
their  respective  commands.  Zillner  inspected  his  own 
quarters — a  little  burrow  in  two  compartments,  the 
sides  shored  up  with  planks  ;  he  had  to  creep  on  all 
fours.  He  could  lie  down  at  full  length  inside,  but  there 
was  a  constant  dripping  of  water  from  the  roof  and  walls. 
It  was  a  bright  starlight  night.  The  monotonously 
repeated  thud  of  bullets  striking  the  earthworks  on  all 
sides  was  interrupted  now  and  again  by  the  shriek  of  an 
owl,  or  by  a  sudden  burst  of  firing  from  a  machine-gun. 

Zillner  crept  into  his  sleeping-bag,  fell  asleep  at  once, 
and  dreamed  of  his  mother.  '  Mind  you  don't  catch 
cold,  my  dear  boy,'  said  the  kindly,  anxious  voice.  '  It 
is  very  damp  in  here.  And  have  you  your  woollen  under 
clothes  on,  and  your  warm  socks  ?  Let  me  .  .  .'  And 
he  was  glad  to  have  her  there  beside  him,  and  reached  out 
for  her  hand  to  kiss  it.  But  his  fingers  touched  the 
clammy  wall,  and  he  awoke. 

There  was  a  faint  crackling  of  firing  outside.  A 
sudden  weakness  came  over  him  ;  he  felt  almost  on  the 
point  of  weeping. 

Seven  days  and  nights  !  Spent  in  a  lover's  arms,  with 
kisses  and  tender  words,  it  is  a  little  while,  a  time  of 
triumphant  gladness.  Or  on  a  journey  in  a  foreign 
country,  with  a  travelling  trunk  in  the  rack  above  ;  all 
cares  thrust  away  into  a  comer  of  the  everyday  life  that 
is  left  behind,  and  the  present  full  of  new  impressions, 
rich  and  varied.    Seven  days  I    A  trifle  1    Or  sitting  at 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  1»5 

work,  busied  upon  some  problem  that  occupies  the  mind 
— the  hours  fly  past  in  a  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke  ;  the 
seven  days  and  nights  are  suddenly  past,  as  in  a  dream, 
and  only  the  nervous  reaction  is  left.  Or  seven  days  in 
pursuit  of  the  enemy,  hurrying  after  as  he  hurries  in 
flight.  Time  and  space  disappear,  hours,  days,  and 
nights  melt  in  a  glow  of  victorious  excitement.  .  .  . 
Only  in  the  trenches,  with  death  knocking  at  the  door 
without,  or  glowering  down  from  a  leaden  sky,  and 
nothing  to  do  but  sit  and  wait  in  a  world  two  hundred 
paces  long,  and  but  a  single  pace  wide — there,  seven  days 
and  nights  drag  on  unendingly  I  So  Zillner  thought, 
sitting  there  under  the  dull  milky  grey  of  the  autumn 
sky. 

Day  after  day  crept  up,  shivering  drowsily,  sleepily, 
hung  with  empty  eyes  over  the  trenches,  and  slowly 
passed.  Now  and  again  a  shell  or  so  whined  overhead, 
on  the  way  to  some  selected  farmhouse  in  the  rear.  So 
the  time  dragged  on. 

Prager,  who  was  of  an  inventive  turn  of  mind,  had 
built  up  a  sort  of  stove  in  his  dug-out,  chiefly  from  old 
meat  tins.  It  gave  out  a  certain  amount  of  warmth,  and 
a  great  deal  of  smoke.  The  nights  passed  in  visits  of 
inspection,  and  spells  of  broken  sleep.  One  or  two  of  the 
men,  with  more  initiative  than  the  rest,  used  the  hours 
of  darkness  to  go  and  dig  potatoes  in  a  field  close  by, 
creeping  out  on  all  fours  from  the  trench,  and  returning 
in  the  same  way.  On  one  such  expedition  a  man  was 
shot ;  otherwise  there  were  but  few  casualties.  The 
fallen  were  buried  among  the  willows  by  the  communi- 
cation trench. 

One  day,  Nechleba  and  the  recruit  Nimmersatt  were 
standing  side  by  side  on  the  look-out,  when  suddenly 
they  noticed  a  movement  in  the  enemy  position,  that 
lay  like  a  huge  caterpillar  on  the  farther  bank.  A  man 
was  creeping  out ;  he  stood  up,  strolled  over  to  a  willow 
tree  close  by,  and  began  cutting  twigs  as  calmly  as  could 
be. 

Nechleba*s    eyes    flashed.    '  There 's    your    chance. 


196  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

youngster.    Pick  him  off !    Aim  at  the  knees,  and  you  've 
got  him.' 

Nimmersatt  looked  at  him  in  horror.  *  Shoot  him — 
like  that — in  cold  blood.     No,  no,  I  couldn't.' 

'  All  right  then,  softy,  I  will.'  The  veteran  threw 
his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  took  a  careful  aim,  and  fired. 
The  report  rang  out  sharply  across  the  water ;  the 
figure  by  the  trees  flung  up  its  arms,  toppled  over,  and 
lay  stretched  out  stiffly. 

*  Heart,'  muttered  Nechleba,  with  a  satisfied  grin. 
And,  turning  to  the  recruit,  he  went  on :  *  Now,  you  saw 
the  way  he  fell.  Arms  up  in  the  air,  and  then  plump 
over !  That  means  shot  through  the  heart.  It 's  always 
the  same.' 

Thereupon  he  took  out  his  pocket-knife,  and  cut  a 
little  notch  in  the  stock  of  his  rifle.  '  That 's  twenty- 
three.' 

'  What — ^what  have  you  done  ?  '  stammered  the  boy, 
his  face  pale  with  revulsion.  *  A  fellow  creature — ^who 
had  done  you  no  harm  .  .  .' 

'  You  blessed  little  fool,'  returned  the  other  angrily. 
'  Any  one  'd  think  you  might  be  a  priest.  Think  they  'd 
have  let  you  go  if  you  'd  been  kind  enough  to  stand  up 
as  a  target.  You  've  a  lot  to  learn  yet,  you  have. 
War  's  war — ^you  '11  find  that  out  before  long.' 

As  if  to  emphasise  the  words,  the  look-out  man  a 
dozen  paces  06  dropped  with  a  scream,  and  slithered 
down  into  the  trench,  lay  flat,  turned  over  once  on  his 
side,  then  a  shiver  passed  through  his  limbs,  and  he  lay 
still. 

'  That  was  through  the  head,'  said  Nechleba, improving 
the  occasion.  '  Takes  them  differently,  you  see.  Well, 
that  makes  us  quits,  anyway.' 

The  young  apostle  who  had  lately  preached  the 
sacredness  of  human  life,  grasped  his  rifle,  and  fired  five 
shots  in  rapid  succession  towards  the  grey  line  beyond. 
His  lips  moved.  '  Scoundrels,  murderers,  blood-thirsty 
devils  ! '  he  murmured.  '  Murderers  !  .  .  .' 
-    The  greybeard  turned  on  him  angrily.    '  What  are  you 


CAPTAIN  ZlLLNER  197 

after,  you  little  fool  ?    Wasting  away  ammunition  like 
that  1     If  the  Captain  sees  you,  you  '11  catch  it.' 

The  boy  leaned  back,  pale  as  death,  against  the  earthen 
wall.  His  teeth  were  chattering  violently.  Just  at 
that  moment,  the  man  who  had  been  shot  was  carried 
by,  the  head  covered.     Nechleba  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'  Our  turn  soon,  you  never  know.  It 's  all  in  the  day's 
work.  But  you  '11  never  make  a  soldier,  I  can  see.'  He 
spat  on  the  ground.     '  A  softy,  that 's  what  you  are.' 

The  boy  shook  his  head.  '  Poor  blind  creatures  .  .  . 
blind  .  .  .'  Then,  with  a  rapid  movement,  he  turned 
and  stood  at  his  post,  looking  out,  with  his  lips  com- 
pressed to  a  thin  line. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  •       j 

On  the  seventh  day  there  came  a  telephone  message 
from  battalion  headquarters  to  the  effect  that  the  general 
situation  had  greatly  improved.  A  big  offensive  had 
been  commenced  by  the  armies  on  the  flanks  ;  north 
and  south  they  were  making  great  progress.  The 
Russians  were  in  retreat  there,  and  it  was  thus  likely 
that  they  would  also  fall  back  in  the  centre.  And,  to 
crown  all,  the  great  fortress  had  been  relieved.  The  old 
Major's  voice  was  jubilant  as  he  told  the  news. 

Zillner  liastened  to  cheer  up  his  subordinates  with  the 
news.  Prager  at  once  set  about  to  celebrate  the  occa- 
sion by  a  tea  party,  relying  chiefly  on  his  patent  meat-tin 
stove.  Andrei  danced  czardcts  on  the  floor  of  the  trench, 
a  very  creditable  performance  on  the  whole,  considering 
the  restricted  space.  Even  Spicka  made  some  pretence 
of  cheerfulness,  though  he  expressed  himself  with  all 
reserve.  '  If  it  really  keeps  on  like  that,  we  may  per- 
haps do  something  this  time  after  all.' 

The  men,  too,  were  gleeful  and  excited,  whispering 
among  themselves.  '  The  Russians  have  been  turned 
out  oi  Leniberg — that  means  they  '11  have  to  make  peace 
now.  Hurrah  for  peace  1  We  '11  be  home  in  time  for 
Christmas  after  all.' 

But  Zillner  saw  the  triumphal  arch  of  his  dreams  rise 
now  more  splendid  than  ever  in  the  east.    He  saw  him- 


igg  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

self  galloping  towards  it,  flags  waving  all  around,  the 
black-and-yeilow,  the  red-and-white,  the  sacred  colours 
from  of  old.  And  thousands  of  bells  were  chiming  : 
'  Victory  1 ' 

In  the  dusk  of  that  evening  his  relief  came  up.  Zillner 
started  as  they  approached — he  could  hardly  believe 
his  eyes.  Here  was  no  other  than  Hans  Heinz  Sara- 
patka,  creeping  along,  his  neatly  groomed  figure  bowed 
in  an  awkward  stoop.  '  Here  we  are,'  he  gasped,  and 
leaned  up  against  the  breastwork.  '  What  a  way  1  And 
the  night — dark  and  ugly  .  .  .  owls  shrieking,  as  if  .  .  .' 
There  was  a  whir  of  bullets  over  their  heads.  Hans 
Heinz  ducked.  '  As  if  .  .  .  are  they  always  shooting 
like  this  ?  .  .  .  as  if  .  .  .  Ugh  ! ' 

'  Soon  get  used  to  it,'  said  Zillner.  '  How  long  have 
you  been  at  the  front  ?  ' 

The  poet  sighed.  '  Had  to,  after  all,'  he  said  plain- 
tively. '  Short  of  officers.  As  a  matter  of  fact,'  he 
went  on,  '  1  had  really  been  wanting  to  come  and  see  it 
all  for  myself — get  at  the  reality  of  it,  you  know.  In- 
stead of  the  wearying  routine  of  office  work.  Here,  of 
course,  it 's  different.  If  only  they  wouldn't  keep  firing 
all  the  time.     It  gets  on  one's  nerves,  you  know.' 

Zillner  smiled.  '  I  'm  afraid  they  don't  consider  one's 
nerves  overmuch.  But  you  've  only  got  to  keep  under 
cover.' 

'  I  will,'  said  Hans  Heinz  earnestly.  Then  in  a  dreamy 
voice,  he  went  on  :  '  I  feel  something  ripening  within 
...  a  call  .  .  .  insistent ;   it  will  come,  I  know.  .  .  .' 

'  A  novel,  perhaps.     Well,  then  .  .  .' 

'  Novel.'  Hans  Heinz  shook  his  heavy  mane.  '  My 
dear  fellow — nothing  like  it.  Novels — no,  the  men 
who  stay  at  home  can  write  novels.  Little  souls,  that 
only  think  of  what  they  can  sell.  No — the  thing  that  is 
burning  withm  me  is  an  epic.  The  epic  of  modern  war. 
Here,  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  the  creative  force  .  .  .' 
A  bullet  thumped  into  the  earth  close  by,  and  spattered 
his  cape.  Hans  Heinz  sat  down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
trench.     '  Really,  it 's  most  uncomfortable — this  con- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  igO 

stant  peril  of  death.'  He  gulped  down  something  in  his 
throat.  '  What  was  I  going  to  say  ?  Yes  ;  it  is  in  the 
heroic  idealism  of  action  that  such  a  work  must  be  bom. 
A  paean  of  glorious  deeds  1  If  only  my  nerves.  .  .  . 
What  can  the  highest  inspiration,  the  most  ardent 
feeling,  avail  against  mere  lead  ?  Nothing.  They 
cannot  turn  a  single  bullet  aside.' 

'  They  can.'  Zillner  drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
height.  '  A  man  inspired  with  faith  in  the  cause  he 
serves  may  go  through  fire  and  water  unscathed.' 

Hans  Heinz  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  '  Now 
you  're  talking  poetry,  my  dear  fellow.  If  you  care  to 
come  round  any  evening  between  eight  and  twelve, 
when  I  'm  sitting  at  the  Cafe  Museum — I  do  my  best 
work  then — why,  I  '11  be  as  poetic  as  you  please.  But 
here  .  .  .  '     He  shivered. 

'  Here  is  just  the  place.  If  I  were  a  poet,  I  should 
find  my  inspiration  here — the  finest,  most  glorious  songs 
would  be  bom  in  just  such  an  hour.  Yes,  if  I  were  a 
poet,  I  would  make  men  feel  the  ecstasy  of  joy  that 
comes  to  a  soldier  here,  where  his  work  lies.' 

Hans  Heinz  flushed  angrily.  Here  was  this  dull, 
prosaic  fellow,  a  professional  soldier,  in  a  dirty  trench, 
suddenly  glowing  with  poetic  fire,  while  he  himself,  poet 
and  man  of  culture,  felt  only  acute  discomfort.  It  was 
ridiculous  1 

*  Really  1 '  he  said  aloud.  '  My  dear  fellow,  I  admire 
your  spirit.  You  haven't  washed  for  a  week,  and  you 
can  still  find  all  sorts  of  fantastic  ideas  and  beautiful 
words.  It  is  really  surprising.  Now  I  always  shrink 
from  things  that  make  too  violent  an  impression  on  the 
mind.  All  this  firing,  for  instance,  and  the  general 
sordidness.  I  don't  feel  comfortable  without  my 
writing-table  and  my  favourite  lamp  with  the  rose-pink 
shade.' 

*  Is  not  emotion  enough  in  itself  ?  Must  you  have  a 
writing-table  and  a  lampshade  before  you  can  feel  ?  ' 

*  Well,  you  know — er — the  artistic  faculty  is  never  at 
its  best  in  the  midst  of  chaos.     One  needs  to  be  removed, 


200  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

at  least  from  the  brutally  uncongenial.  If  only  the 
firing  would  stop,  I  could  grasp  the  vision  of  all  this  hell 
out  here,  and  set  it  down  in  orderly  coherence  ;  create  a 
metric  harmony  through  which  gods  and  devils  should 
work  out  their  strife  according  to  my  will ;  in  a  word, 
produce  a  work  of  art  direct  from  nature.  You  see  what 
I  mean  ?  ' 

'  Not  quite.' 

'  Well,  think  for  a  moment.  Here  we  are  huddled  up 
in  a  muddy  ditch,  with  the  risk  of  a  bullet  through  the 
head  at  any  moment — how  can  a  man  construct  a  plot, 
or  even  formulate  a  single  thought  in  printable  guise  ? 
No  ;  the  heart  must  be  cool  and  calm,  the  brain  clear, 
and  then — then,  if  you  are  a  true  poet,  you  can  dig  up 
jewels  from  the  sorriest  mire.* 

*  I  don't  know  what  you  understand  by  a  true  poet,' 
objected  Zillner.  '  Poets  like  Kleist  and  Korner,  I 
imagine,  must  have  been  of  a  different  clay.' 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  felt  just  the  same.  I  assure 
you.  Do  you  really  suppose  Kleist  could  have  written 
the  "  Hermannsschlacht "  sitting  in  a  trench  in  the 
Teutoburgerwald  ?  A  nice  mess  he  would  have  made  of 
it.  And  as  for  Korner  and  his  battle  songs — if  he  had 
kept  his  ideas  m  his  head  till  he  got  home,  instead  of 
scribbling  them  down  under  fire,  they  would  have  been 
a  great  deal  neater  and  less  rugged.  No,  it 's  no  good 
trying  to  disparage  the  critical  faculty — it  is  a  part  of 
the  poet's  equipment.  It 's  all  very  well  to  talk  of 
direct  feeling,  things  written  with  the  heart's  blood,  and 
so  on.  But  heart's  blood  doesn't  make  a  work  of  art. 
It  is  the  careful  elaboration,  the  work  of  the  file,  that 
does  it.  Take  a  man  like  Hoffmansthal — you  could 
never  make  him  an  Olympian  if  you  tried.  He  would 
simply  be  a  dull,  unwashed  original,  with  dirty  nails, 
and  smelling  of  cheese.  It 's  the  same  here.  The  sense 
of  the  sublime  is  merely  an  aftermath,  and  hero-worship 
only  a  literary  reaction — I  say,  I  believe  I  've  caught 
cold  already.'     And  he  sniffed. 

Zillner  gazed  out  into  the  night.     '  If  it  were  so,'  he 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  201 

said  softly,  '  I  should  not  care  to  play  a  part.     Life 
would  be  nothing  but  a  senseless  play,  with  a  crowd  of 
miserable  supers,  and  one  or  two  well-paid  swindlers  in 
the  leading  parts.     No,  I  shouldn't  care  to  be  in  that.' 
'  You  misunderstand  me.'     The  poet  sniffed  again. 

*  I  didn't  mean  that  exactly.  An  age  of  great  achieve- 
ments is  always  a  great  age  ;  we  are  in  it  now,  we  can 
feel  its  breath  burning  upon  us,  mark  its  strides  bringing 
new  wonders  to  light.  But  if  I  am  to  paint  its  progress, 
hold  up  the  grandeur  of  its  march  to  the  gaze  of  genera- 
tions to  come,  then  I  must  seek  my  inspiration  in  the 
pathos  which  only  distance  can  give.  In  a  word,  it  is 
impossible  to  ctudy  the  war  from  an  aesthetic  point  of 
view  if  it  will  not  leave  you  in  peace — and  I  am  sorely 
afraid  my  creative  faculty  w^ll  suffer.  The  poet  must 
be  raised  above  the  actuality  of  his  subject  matter,  and 
view  it  from  a  distance.  That 's  what  I  mean.  The  war 
itself,  of  course  .  .  .' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  understand,'  interrupted  ZiUner,  his  face 
twitching.  '  When  it  is  all  over,  I  can  read  your  epic, 
and  the  visions  you  and  your  like  have  grasped  with  your 
poetic  faculty.  Meanwhile,  let  me  introduce  you  to  the 
vulgar  peasant.'  And  he  led  the  way  along  the  trench, 
Sarapatka  following  with  an  exaggerated  stoop.  A  hand- 
shake, and  Zillner  turned  back,  followed  by  his  men, 
along  the  way  to  the  rear. 

The  poet  crept  into  the  dug-out,  drew  out  a  notebook, 
and  endeavoured  to  set  down  his  thoughts.  But  there 
was  a  disturbing  smell  of  rotten  straw,  and  a  constant 
dripping  from  the  walls.  He  thrust  back  his  notebook 
with  a  sigh,  crept  into  his  sleeping-bag,  and  dreamed  of 
rheumatic  fever  and  swollen  joints  ;  followed,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  by  medical  certificates  and  honourably  acquired 
unfitness  for  all  further  service  in  the  field. 

Days  passed,  and  still  no  crossing  of  the  river  was 
effected.     The    attempt   was   regularly   announced    as 

*  probably  to  be  made  to-morrow.'  and  day  after  day 
the  reserves  paraded  in  the  grey  mist  of  dawn,  but  only 


202  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

to  march  back  to  their  second  Ime  of  defence  about 
eight,  and  put  in  the  rest  of  the  day  at  spade  work. 
The  clammy  fogs  crept  over  the  meadows,  frost  gUttered 
on  alder  and  willow,  ice  formed  on  the  puddles,  and  the 
men  found  it  harder  to  break  the  crust  of  the  soil  with 
then*  short-handled  spades.  The  sun  was  no  longer 
seen  by  day,  and  at  night  the  men  crept  closer  together 
in  their  sheds.  The  straw  was  damp,  and  a  cold  wind 
whistled  through  the  cracks  in  the  plank  walls.  The 
cholera  grew  bolder,  stealing  upon  the  sleepers  in  the 
night,  and  seizing  a  victim  here  and  there.  The  doctors 
went  about  injecting  serum  into  the  rest.  The  primitive 
ovens  in  the  village  were  busy  turning  out  substitutes 
for  the  bread  that  still  failed  to  appear — loaves  made 
from  potato  flour  and  brick  dust. 

Captain  Pfustermeyer  swore.  Colonel  Prapora  fussed 
about,  scolding  and  complaining,  and  the  former 
Brigadier  came  round  from  time  to  time,  testing  the 
thickness  of  the  bomb-proof  shelters  with  a  foot-rule. 
Zillner  listened  to  the  distant  cannonade,  which  kept  on 
unceasingly.  It  came  from  downstream,  where  the 
great  river  flowed  out  into  the  greater,  and  upstream  to 
the  south.  It  was  most  furious  in  the  region  of  the 
recently  relieved  fortress,  where  it  seemed  to  have 
advanced  a  good  deal.  Once  the  airmen  reported  that 
the  enemy  was  sending  baggage  columns  northward. 
This  gave  rise  to  pleasant  anticipations ;  evidently  the 
Russians  were  being  forced  back  by  the  pressure  on  their 
flanks.  Then  came  news  from  the  rear,  that  bomb- 
proof stables  were  under  construction  at  division  head- 
quarters— which  looked  like  preparations  for  the  winter, 
and  doing  nothing  till  the  spring.  .  .  . 

The  wearied  troops  began  to  grow  uneasy.  What  was 
going  to  happen  ?  For  three  weeks  now  they  had 
stuck  to  the  same  patch  of  ground,  preparing  for  a  leap 
across  the  river.  The  drivers  behind  flourished  their 
whips,  but  half-heartedly  now,  and  without  fire.  If 
they  would  only  lash  out  in  earnest — a  desperate  at- 
tempt to  cross  would  be  better  than  this  inaction.    A 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  20a 

last  charge  on  the  other  side  :  many  would  fall,  no  doubt, 
but  then,  for  the  others,  a  chance  of  long-needed  rest,  a 
prospect  of  home  I  Like  a  harassed  beast,  the  army 
gathered  its  limbs  for  a  leap,  straining  every  muscle, 
waiting  for  the  word.  There,  on  the  farther  bank,  was 
peace  to  be  won.  Peace  I  One  more  leap,  and  perhaps 
another,  and  it  would  be  over.  But  the  signal  did  not 
come.  There  came  instead  a  night  of  terror — a  night 
that  tore  the  hearts  of  men  to  shreds.  .  .  . 

It  was  three  o'clock.  Zillner  was  sitting  in  his 
quarters,  reading  a  letter  from  Baroness  Lisl  at  Meran. 
'.  .  .  He  is  getting  on  slowly,  so  slowly.  Still  the 
cough  and  the  fever.  I  am  worn  out,  and  dreadfully 
anxious  about  him  .  .  .  and  please  do  not  write  about 
the  war  this  time,  please.  .  .  .' 

Zillner  stared  at  the  flickering  candle  flame.  Poor 
old  Kjottenburg  1  A  good  fellow — it  was  hard  luck 
indeed.  Thrown  away  by  a  senseless  order,  and  left 
there  now  at  the  rear  in  idleness  .  .  .  cough  and  fever 
.  .  .  poor  Lisl !  He  folded  up  the  letter.  What  could 
he  say  to  comfort  her  ?  His  world  here  was  so  far 
removed  from  hers ;  her  world  that  held  but  one  thing — 
the  wounded  man  for  whom  she  lived.  His  thoughts 
and  dreams  were  hopelessly  alien  to  her  one  sorrow  ;  how 
could  he  find  words  that  should  help  her  ?  Tell  her  of 
his  faith,  that  looked  forth  over  the  manifold  death  into 
a  glory  of  flowers  ?  Impossible  !  She  was  a  loving 
woman,  with  no  heart  for  anything  beyond  her  own 
nest,  that  the  war  had  already  all  but  wrecked.  This 
great  and  merciless  thing — war.;  how  should  she  ever 
understand  ?  She  would  hate  him  if  he  tried.  How 
could  she  feel  othei-wise  ? 

He  felt  as  if  something  in  his  heart  had  withered.  He 
had  grown  poorer,  or  surely  he  could  have  found  words 
to  comfort  a  suffering  woman  who  asked  for  his  aid. 
His  heart  had  grown  speechless,  and  it  frightened  him. 
Even  his  men,  the  poor  simple  soldiers  who  looked  up 
to  him — if  they  fell,  he  would  see  the  pity  of  it,  but  his 
heart  would  still  be  dumb.    No — he  had  ceased  to  be  a 


204  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

human  being  ;  he  was  a  soldier  and  nothing  more.  He 
stared  at  the  Hght,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  straining 
to  follow  a  blood-red  star,  the  only  one  in  all  the  sky 
for  him.  All  the  kindlier  little  lights  that  had  warmed 
and  cheered  him  before  had  faded  in  that  fire,  a  single 
blood -red  glow  that  filled  the  sky.  And  his  eyes  were 
drawn  to  it,  and  his  heart  beat  wildly  in  longing.  .  .  . 
What  could  poor  Lisl  say  if  he  should  try  to  comfort  her 
by  telling  of  his  star  ?  He  could  see  her  face  shrink 
with  horror,  hear  her  voice,  '  No,  no,  why  do  you  tell 
me  of  those  horrible  fancies  ?  Tell  me  when  Moritz 
will  be  well  again.  Tell  me  if  he  will  be  well  soon — ^well 
again  .  .  .  ' 

Zillner  racked  his  brain  to  find  something  he  could 
write.  What  could  a  man  say  to  her  ?  ...  It  was  no 
good.  Perhaps  to-morrow.  .  .  .  He  lay  down  on  the 
floor,  where  little  Andrei  was  snoring  in  the  straw. 
Then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

An  orderly  stepped  in,  and  gave  out  breathlessly  : 
'  Order  from  the  Colonel.  Rouse  the  men,  and  form  up 
read  to  march.     Captain  Zillner  to  the  office  at  once.' 

'  What  does  it  mean  ?     Are  we  going  to  cross  ?  ' 

The  man  could  tell  him  nothing  save  that  the  Colonel 
seemed  much  disturbed.  Zillner  buckled  on  his  sword, 
took  his  cap  and  hurried  off  through  the  darkness. 

The  regiment  had  set  up  its  headquarters  in  a  large 
farmhouse.  The  anteroom  was  full  of  orderlies  and 
motor  cyclists  ;  in  the  next  apartment  sat  the  Adjutant, 
surrounded  by  a  staff  of  clerks.  His  face  was  haggard 
from  want  of  sleep,  and  he  was  plainly  nervous,  as  he 
sat  with  the  telephone  receiver  to  his  ear,  scribbling  in  a 
big  notebook.  A  couple  of  oil  lamps  hung  from  the 
roof,  shedding  a  dismal  light.  The  Colonel  was  striding 
up  and  down  impatiently.     Zillner  salut-ed. 

'  Ah,  yes,*  said  the  Colonel.  '  You  have  your  men 
ready  ?  Good.  The  position  is  this  .  .  .'  He 
walked  up  and  down  with  rapid  steps,  looking  like  a 
caged  lion  startled  by  a  display  of  fireworks.  '  The 
position,  my  dear  fellow  .  .  .  well  .  .  .'     The  Colonel's 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  205 

voice  was  firm,  yet  with  a  certain  ingratiating  tone, 
which  he  was  wont  to  adopt  in  deahng  with  awkward 
situations.  '  In  a  word  .  .  .  you  are  to  hold  the 
position  here  until  the  regiment  has  reached  a  place  of 
safety.' 

Zillner  stepped  back  in  astonishment.  '  The  regi- 
ment. .  .  .  Pardon,  sir — I  don't  quite  .  .  ,  ' 

'  Well,  you  see,  it 's  like  this.'  The  Colonel  paused, 
and  looked  about  him.  '  We  are  to  fall  back.  The 
whole  division.  It 's  altogether  unexpected,  I  know 
.  .  .  still,  as  it  is  ...  ' 

He  resumed  his  march  up  and  down,  under  the  lamps. 
Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  shouted  across  to  the  Adju- 
tant. '  Well,  sir,  get  along,  if  you  please.  This  cursed 
dawdling.  Send  out  the  order  once  more,  and  let  us 
get  done  with  it.' 

Poor  Captain  Wiirkner  lifted  his  ofi&ce-wearied  eyes 
appealingly :  '  Sir,  the  Brigadier  has  just  altered  the 
arrangements  for  the  fifth  time.  The  Adjutant  says  he 
can't  help  it,  the  division  headquarters  .  .  .  ' 

'  Good  heavens — ^what  are  they  all  about  ?  Delay, 
delay  .  .  .  and  here  are  we  trying  to  get  the  work 
through.'  The  Colonel  spread  his  arms  wide  in  the 
attitude  of  one  crucified.  Then,  turning  to  the  clerks, 
who  were  cowering  like  scared  fowls  in  a  thunderstorm, 
he  shouted  at  them  :  '  Paper — ^pencils,  lazy  devils  that 
you  are  !  Come  along.'  He  grasped  a  stout  corporal 
by  the  arm  and  shook  him.  '  Make  haste,  you  drivel- 
ling lump  of  lard,  or  I  '11  ...  '  And  Colonel  Prapora 
tore  off  his  cape,  waved  it  furiously  about  his  head,  and 
flung  it  down  on  the  floor. 

A  little  Jew  clerk  crept  under  the  table  and  picked  it 
up  ;  the  Colonel  took  it  without  a  word,  and  put  it  on 
again.  '  Ah  ...  at  last  I '  The  Adjutant  was  ready 
with  the  orders  at  last,  and  gave  them  out  now  to  the 
telephone,  in  a  clear,  even  voice,  while  the  clerks  wrote 
down  at  the  same  time.  ' .  .  .  Front  line  companies 
to  evacuate  their  positions  at  once.  Small  patrols  will 
be  left  behind  to  deceive  the  enemy,  but  will  likewise  be 


206  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

withdrawn  as  soon  as  light.  .  .  .  Battalions  will  occupy 
second  line  of  defence  •  .  .  First  battalion  to  cover  the 
retreat — occupy  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  hold 
the  position  at  any  cost.  First  order,  dated  twelve 
midnight.' 

Zillner  was  still  standing  by  the  door.  The  orders 
fell  on  his  ear  like  blows  ;  he  was  in  a  torment  of  anger 
and  disappointment.  The  stuffy  little  room,  with  its 
smoky  lamps,  the  pale  face  of  the  Adjutant  in  his  corner, 
the  Colonel  swinging  up  and  down  like  a  pendulum,  in 
a  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke  .  .  .  was  it  all  real,  or  only 
something  in  a  dream.     Impossible !  .  .  .  impossible  ! .  .  . 

The  Colonel's  voice  called  him  harshly  from  his 
trance. 

'  Still  there.  Captain  Zillner  ?  Well,  sir,  my  orders 
were  surely  clear  enough.  To  your  post  at  once,  if  you 
please.  The  enemy  may  be  moving  out  at  any  moment 
to  follow.  .  .  .  Heaven  help  us  1  At  once,  sir.'  Then, 
changing  his  tone,  he  went  on  appealingly  :  '  My  dear 
fellow,  I  know  I  can  trust  you.  ...  It  is  a  post  of  the 
utmost  importance  .  .  .  for  the  honour  of  the  regi- 
ment .  .  .  hold  it  at  any  cost.     You  understand  ?  ' 

Zillner  went  out.  Over  on  the  northern  fringe  of  the 
village  were  the  newly-dug  trenches,  showing  grey  in 
the  dark  of  the  night.  He  stood  there,  staring  at  the 
grey  wall,  behind  which  the  river  flowed  slowly  on.  A 
dull  sound  of  musketry  reached  his  ears — he  had  heard 
it  now  for  nearly  a  month.  He  thought  of  the  grimy 
fellows  huddled  up  in  their  pitiful  shelters,  comforting 
themselves  with  the  sweet  word,  '  Peace.'  Like  a 
trumpet  call  from  the  sky  had  come  the  promise  :  they 
had  but  to  drive  out  the  enemy,  and  peace  was  theirs. 
And  now,  the  telephone  shouting  harshly  across  their 
dreams — ^the  order  to  retreat !  Again  retreat !  And  the 
Christmas  trees  of  their  vision  turned  to  ugly  spectres. 

.  .  .  Out  there  in  front  thousands  of  poor  wretches 
dragged  back  their  rifles  and  flung  their  hopes  away, 
to  be  driven  themselves  like  fallen  leaves  before  the 
wind. 


!■•••• 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  207 

What  use  had  it  all  been  ?  A  terrible  voice  rang 
through  Zillner's  soul,  bidding  him  curse  that  '  Faith  * 
of  his.  In  a  passion  of  loathing  he  flung  himself  down 
on  the  wet  ground,  and  lay  there  digging  his  fingers  deep 
into  the  sand.  '  Curses  on  your  faith  !  *  he  hissed  be- 
tween his  teeth. 

Spidery  fingers  clutched  at  him  out  of  the  night,  and 
an  awesome  whispering  and  muttering  sounded  in  his 
ears.  *  Credulous  fool !  Where  is  your  rainbow  now  ? 
Look  about  you,  and  throw  off  the  scales  from  your  eyes. 
They  are  to  die  in  vain,  as  the  others  have  died  ...  all 
those  out  in  the  dank  meadow^s,  in  the  trenches,  in  the 
furrows  of  the  plough  ...  all  of  them,  all !  The 
sounding  words  and  phrases,  the  orders  lashed  out  like 
a  whip — all  lies,  all  lies  !  The  men  at  the  rear,  they 
have  long  since  ceased  to  believe.  They  drift  about, 
and  stammer  out  commands  at  hazard.  Their  show  of 
energy  is  only  a  part  they  play,  their  seeming  confidence 
a  sham  .  .  .  the  most  they  hope  for  now  is  to  bring  the 
pitiful  tragedy  to  a  less  pitiful  close,  and  it  is  for  that 
we  are  being  sacrificed.  We  are  to  die,  that  they  may 
say  it  might  have  been  worse  after  all.  Credulous  fool  I — 
with  your  heart  full  of  pity  for  the  little  supers  in  the 
play,  what  corner  of  your  soul  is  still  so  blind  ?  How 
can  you  still  believe  ?  * 

His  slight  frame  was  shaking  as  with  ague.  Some- 
thing was  roaring  in  his  ear  :  '  Curses  on  your  heart ! 
They  are  to  die  in  vain,  as  the  rest  have  died.*  He 
murmured  the  words  himself,  and  the  voices  ceased. 
Then  another  whisper  rose  :  '  Are  you  a  soldier  ? — are 
you  your  father's  son  ?  He  died  in  action,  and  did  not 
ask  if  he  had  died  in  vain.  Are  you  a  soldier — as  your 
father  and  his  fathers  before  him  ?  Those  men,  who 
rendered  honourable  service,  generation  after  generation, 
in  the  Habsburg  armies — can  you  turn  and  curse  the 
faith  in  which  they  lived  and  died  ?  They  were  faith- 
ful to  the  death — and  you  ?  Shame  on  you,  that  you 
have  forsaken  their  ways.  You,  a  soldier  I  *  But  the 
voice  from  the  night  cried  out :    '  A  human  being  is 


208  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

something  greater  than  a  soldier  ;  the  greatest  thing  a 
man  can  be.     Be  that ! ' 

Zillner  staggered  back  to  his  company,  his  head  in  a 
fever.  Ten  minutes  later,  as  he  was  taking  up  his 
position,  a  motor  cyclist  came  up  :  '  Orders  from  the 
Colonel — the  position  to  be  evacuated,  and  the  company 
to  join  up  with  the  regiment  at  once.  The  retirement  to 
be  carried  out  without  delay.' 

It  was  the  sixth  change  of  plans. 


CHAPTER  Xn 

That  night  the  grey  columns  toiled  back  over  vile  roads, 
cut  deep  by  heavy  wheels,  and  frozen  hard.  Dark 
forests  towered  thieateniiigly  on  either  side  ;  the  villages 
were  shivering  skeletons,  desolately,  dreadfully  silent, 
with  unlit  windows  glowering  like  dead  eyes,  and  houses 
standing  resignedly  in  then*  wreckage,  as  if  knowing 
that  no  worse  could  come  to  them  now  than  what  had 
been.  Twice  the  war  had  passed  that  way,  trampling 
down  everything  underfoot,  crushing  in  roofs  and 
piercing  the  walls  to  sieves.  Its  third  commg  could  not 
move  tnem ;  they  were  patient  now,  and  could  look 
tamely  upon  death. 

JVlany  a  hope  that  had  flourished  greenly  in  the  mire 
and  damp  by  the  river  died  out  that  nigJit.  Men  did 
not  speak  of  it — ^they  marched  on,  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  them,  sullen  at  heart  as  the  sullen  night  about  them. 
But  one  thought  was  tearing  at  the  soul  of  all,  agonising 
every  step  ;  why — ^why  ?  Why  all  that  bloodshed  on 
the  river  bank  ?  Why  all  those  pits  full  of  corpses  on 
the  fringe  of  the  wood,  by  the  streams,  on  the  hillsides 
and  scattered  about  the  fields  ?  In  each  man's  soul  a 
sullen  anger  was  at  work  ;  anger  at  this  thing  they  could 
not  understand.  But  the  night  was  long,  and  as  the 
columns  groped  on  through  the  endlessness  of  it  all,  the 
thought  grew  sluggish  and  dull.  Hunger,  with  a  physical 
craving  to  huddle  up  somewhere  and  sleep,  was  stronger 
than  all  the  doubt  and  questioning  of  the  mmd.  Food 
and  sleep — that  was  the  pressmg  need  ;  the  one  idea 
that  stood  out  clearly  still.  All  else  seemed  insignifi- 
cant. And  after  a  march  of  forty  kilometresgyithout 
halt,  a  fair  glow  of  light  rose  over  th^earily  strugghng 
thousands  :    the  dawn  I 


5^10  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

The  first  battalion  of  the  Tiefenbachers  had  a  division 
of  heavy  howitzers  wedged  into  their  formation.  The 
giant  guns  creaked  awkwardly  along  through  the  deep 
ruts,  the  horses  straining  and  gasping.  They  were  big, 
powerfully  built  animals,  but  terribly  weak  from  lack 
of  food.  At  every  little  rise,  a  gun  or  an  ammunition 
waggon  stuck  fast,  and  had  to  be  got  under  way  again 
with  shouts  and  cracking  of  whips  and  pushing  at  the 
spokes.  When  all  proved  unavailing,  the  ammunition 
was  taken  out  and  buried.  And  at  every  such  check, 
Major  Blagorski  would  look  on  with  a  dismal  face  and 
plaintively  protest :  '  Now  if  the  Russians  were  to 
attack  at  this  moment — ^really,  gentlemen — how  are  we 
to  get  on  at  all  ?  We  shall  be  left  behind,  that  will  be 
the  end.^  He  looked  like  a  corpse,  and  stared  out 
anxiously  to  front  and  rear,  for  a  sight  of  the  Colonel. 

'  I  hardly  think  they  '11  come  up  in  pursuit,'  said 
Grill.  '  A  forced  march  like  this  should  give  us  a  good 
start,  and  throw  them  out.' 

'  Heaven  grant  it  may,'  sighed  the  Major. 

It  was  full  daylight  now.  The  Tiefenbachers  left  the 
road,  and  made  their  way  up  a  steep  hill,  where  they  at 
once  commenced  to  prepare  a  position  of  defence.  The 
artillery  clattered  in  to  a  neighbouring  village  ;  the 
horses  needed  rest.  Colonel  Prapora  stalked  about 
shouting  orders  :  '  Not  too  wide — no  time  to  spare. 
Breastworks  thrown  well  up,  sharp  lines,  if  you  please. 
Hurry  along  there — ^the  enemy  may  be  here  at  any 
minute.  .  .  .'  Then  off  he  went  to  the  village  with  a 
detachment  of  pioneers,  to  see  about  a  bomb-proof 
shelter  for  himself,  where  he  could  get  a  few  hours'  rest. 

Zillner  sat  down  by  a  field  path.  He  was  in  a  fever. 
As  through  a  veil  he  saw  his  men  swaying  hither  and 
thither  over  the  ground,  heard  his  lieutenants  giving 
orders  as  they  marked  out  the  lines  of  the  trenches. 
His  mind  was  a  blank  ;  no  thought,  no  feeling,  no  voice 
— ^he  sa{J there  shivering.  And  this  was  war !  .  .  .  the 
great  and  beauti|5  power  1  ...  A  power,  rather,  that 
turned  men  to  dull  beasts.    He  strove  to  collect  his 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  211 

thoughts,  to  recall  the  events  of  the  night.  Nothing  but 
marching,  tramp,  tramp,  and  he  himself  riding  behind 
his  men.  Once  his  horse  had  stumbled  and  all  but 
thrown  him — the  poor  beast  was  nearly  worn  out. 
What  had  happened  before  that  ?  .  .  .  He  had  been 
unhappy  about  something  .  .  .  never  mind — it  was  all 
ridiculous,  not  worth  a  thought.  It  dawned  upon  him 
that  he  must  be  ill.  Should  he  ask  the  doctor  ?  No, 
it  was  nothing ;  he  was  tired,  nothing  more.  Up,  and 
get  to  work  again  1 

He  pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort,  and  went 
over  to  where  the  men  were  working.  Then  he  sat  down 
again,  overcome  with  weariness,  and  sank  into  a  blessed 
half-consciousness.  He  sat  staring  at  a  rich  dark  clump 
of  upturned  soil,  thinking  of  nothing,  nothing.  .  .  . 

Pfustermeyer's  voice  roused  him.  '  Wake  up,  man. 
It 's  no  good  sitting  moping  about  it  all,  like  a  bottle- 
green  when  his  blessed  little  plans  go  wrong.  I  say, 
though,  you  're  looking  pretty  bad.  A  nip  of  brandy  's 
the  thing.  Crlenjak  has  some  slivovitza,^  I  know.  Or 
hot  tea  with  a  dash  of  rum.  We  've  got  the  samovar 
going  over  there.  Come  along.'  He  took  Zillner's 
arm,  and  led  him  away.  '  We  '11  soon  get  some  warmth 
into  you.' 

Pfustermeyer's  section  was  at  breakfast.  The  little 
Croat  had  still  a  few  drops  of  slivovitza,  and  some  bread 
and  sausage  ;  Grill  brought  out  sardines,  and  Pfuster- 
meyer  had  provided  tea.  The  messmen  set  out  plates 
and  cups,  and  the  officers  sat  down. 

*  What  puzzles  me,'  began  Grill,  scowling  at  the  mud 
on  his  boots,  *  is  the  suddenness  of  it  all.  We  were 
getting  on  nicely,  all  things  considered,  and  the  beggars 
had  begun  to  pluck  up  courage.  And  then — retire  1  I 
can't  make  it  out  myself.' 

'  Don't  try,'  said  Pfustermeyer.     '  What 's  the  good  ? 

We  go  the  way  we  're  fated  to  go — all  the  puzzling  in 

the  world  won't  make  it  shorter,  or  longer  either — only 

harder.     I  *ve  given  up  worrying  about  things  long  ago. 

^  A  kind  of  spirit  made  from  plums. 


212  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

And  if  I  do  happen  to  get  in  a  rage  once  in*a  while,  when 
the  high  and  mighty  ones  have  been  more  than  usually- 
exasperating,  why,  I  laugh  at  myself  for  it  afterwards, 
and  think  of  somethmg  else  mstead — home,  for  in- 
stance, and  the  old  lady  and  the  youngsters,  and  what 
fun  it  '11  be  when  it 's  all  over.' 

Grill's  hard  face  softened  into  a  faint  smile.  '  I  wish 
I  could  take  thmgs  as  philosophically  as  you.  When  I 
can't  understand  a  thing,  1  can't  help  trymg  to  find  some 
explanation,  at  any  rate.     To-day,  for  instance  .  .  .  ' 

*  Well,  it  must  mean  something,'  said  the  big  man 
complacently,  stuffing  a  hunch'of  bread  into  his  mouth. 
'  A  new  reconstruction,  1  suppose  they  'd  call  it.  Some- 
thing wrong  with  the  old  arrangement  somewhere,  so 
they  've  got  to  alter  it.  Anyhow,  we  're  still  alive,  that 's 
the  principal  thing.     Jovo,  is  there  a  drop  left  ?  ' 

Tne  withered  mannikur  handed  him  the  bottle. 
'  Here,  brother,  maybe  you  can  find  a  drop.  Yes,  you  're 
right — it 's  no  good  worrymg — though  I  don't  know, 
1  'm  sure.  .  .  .'  The  little  man  seemed  older  than  ever 
to-day,  his  face  all  wrmkled  and  furrowed^  and  with  the 
grey  stubble  thick  on  his  unshaven  chin,  but  his  eyes 
twmkled  merrily.  '  The  night  wasn't  so  bad,  after  all. 
Dry  frost,  brother — I  can  stand  any  amount  of  that. 
It 's  the  damp  that  brings  out  my  wretched  gout. 
I  'm  fit  enough  to-day,  though  I  'm  not  so  young 
as  I  was.' 

'  Bravo,'  cried  Pfustermeyer.  '  That 's  the  way  to 
take  it.  Jovo,  you  're  a  first-rate  sort — I  'd  drink  your 
health  if  there  was  anything  left  to  drink.  Here ' — he 
turned  to  Zillner — '  here  's  a  man  now,  that 's  simply 
worrying  himself  to  death  with  thinking  •  about  the 
ble&sed  retreat.     Feeling  better — ^what  ?  ' 

'  Thanks,'  said  the  young  Captain,  with  a  faint  smile. 
It  hurt  him  to  feel  himself  so  far  removed  from  the 
rest.  Why  could  he  not  take  things  as  Pfustermeyer 
did,  with  a  grand  equanimity  proof  against  all  the  trials 
of  these  miserable  days  ;  or  as  that  brave-hearted  little 
greybeard  there  ;  or  like  Grill,  who  was  simply  annoyed 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  218 

at  having  to  call  his  men  back  when  he  would  have 
preferred  to  drive  them  on  with  the  whip — that  was  the 
way  a  soldier  ought  to  look  at  things.  While  he — he 
could  not  help  feeling  miserable  ;  it  pained  him.  He  was 
at  feud  with  himself,  a  romantic  dreamer,  yet  none  the 
less  a  critic,  sceptic  .  .  .  and  so  his  dreams  always  ended 
a^t  last  in  the  recognition  of  some  bitter  truth. 

Pfustermeyer  must  have  guessed  something  of  his 
trouble,  for  he  cried  out  suddenly,  *Now,  gentlemen, 
I  '11  give  you  a  recipe  to  keep  up  your  spirits.  And 
you,  melancholy  spectre,  you  in  particular.  Well  then, 
first  of  all,  we  imagine  the  Colonel  well  out  of  the  way. 
Then  we  count  up  the  days — the  thiyd  of  November — 
ergo,  ninety  days  nearer  peace — that 's  encouraging  in 
itself.  Then  we  proceed  to  think  of  something  we  're 
specially  keen  on — Grill,  for  instance,  of  his  promotion, 
and  a  decoration  of  some  sort  into  the  bargain  ;  the 
younger  bloods  can  think  of  their  sweethearts,  and  so 
forth.  I,  for  my  part,  think  of  a  neat  little  house  I  Ve 
got  out  in  Waidhofen,  with  a  trout  stream  close  by,  and 
noisy  youngsters  rioting  about,  and  old  people  cosily 
at  ease.  Once  you  get  used  to  keeping  your  thoughts 
on  that  sort  of  thing,  you  won't  worry  any  more  about 
obstreperous  colonels  or  forced  marches,  or  any  other 
silly  devilments  of  war.* 

'  That 's  all  very  well,  brother,'  put  in  the  little  Croat, 
*  but  there  's  one  thing  you  've  forgotten.  What  about 
the  victory  ?  That 's  what  I  'm  thinking  about  most  of 
the  time.     And  when  's  that  coming  along  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  well,  it 's  a  matter  of  taste,'  said  Pfustermeyer. 
'  I  find  it  more  interesting  myself  to  think  of  a  quiet 
comfortable  life  when  it 's  all  over.  All  that  about 
victory — it  simply  makes  me  think  of  diplomatic  dodges 
and  our  blessed  politicians,  and  all  the  mess  they  've 
landed  us  in  already.  And  that 's  not  a  cheerful  sub- 
ject to  dwell  upon.  I  've  had  a  little  experience  of  my 
own  with  the  bottle-greens — and  that  brings  it  all  up 
again.  Anyhow,  we  needn't  talk  of  that — maybe  we 
shall  win  after  all.    I  only  mean  it 's  a  bit  too  early  yet 


214  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

to  think  of  it,  or  so  it  seems  to  me.  It 's  a  matter  of 
taste,  of  course.' 

*  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,'  protested  the  little 
man  eagerly.  '  Surely  we  must  beat  them — there  can 
be  no  question  of  that.* 

'  Let 's  hope  we  may,  let 's  hope  we  may,'  grumbled 
Pfustermeyer.  Then  all  at  once  his  jolly  red  face 
assumed  an  air  of  comical  dismay.  *  O  Lord  I  here 
comes  the  poet ! ' 

r^Hans  Heinz  held  out  a  limp  hand  to  each  in  turn. 
He  was  not  looking  his  best.  The  lower  part  of  his 
Roman  countenance  was  wrapped  up  in  a  woollen  scarf, 
the  upper  portion  covered  with  a  fur  cap,  and  the  collar 
of  his  cloak  turned  up  about  his  ears.  Only  his  finely 
chiselled  nose  stood  out  unprotected.  It  seemed  to  be 
blushing  and  shedding  tears  of  shame  into  the  hand- 
kerchief that  Sarapatka  held  beneath  it.  'Give  me  a 
piece  of  chocolate,  if  there  is  any,'  he  said  thickly.  '  Not 
hungry — only  an  abominable  looseness  of  the  bowels — 
though  I  've  eaten  three  cakes  already.  It  was  all  I 
had.' 

Pfustermeyer  nodded  sympathetically,  and  fished 
up  a  cake  of  chocolate  from  his  pocket.  '  I  thought 
perhaps  it  worked  as  a  sort  of  inspiration,  like  Schiller's 
rotten  pears.' 

Pt'  Apples,  apples  I '  corrected  the  poet  impatiently. 
Then  with  a  hollow  laugh :  '  Inspiration — Ugh  I  I 
have  not  a  notion  in  my  head  ;  not  so  much  as  the 
shadow  of  an  idea.  Only  that  cursed  noise  of  firing 
from  the  trenches.  Tired,  I'm  tired!'  He  sighed 
deeply,  and  sat  down. 

'  Ah ! '  said  Grill,  with  feigned  sympathy,  '  that 's  the 
first  stage.  Persistent  hallucinations — one  of  the  worst 
symptoms  of  general  breakdown.  You  've  got  it  badly, 
I  'm  afraid.' 

The  poet  looked  up  with  a  sudden  gleam  in  his  eyes, 
and  his  voice  had  a  brighter  ring.  *  You  think  it 's 
that  ?  Well,  gentlemen,  I  don't  mind  teUing  you,  I  've 
been  suffering  tortures  of  late.    I  hope  you  may  never 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  215 

feel  the  same.  Hot  and  cold,  burning  and  shivering  by 
turns,  teeth  chattering  all  the  time,  and  my  right  side 
seemed  paralysed.  And  a  constant  noise  in  the  ears,with 
fits  of  giddiness  at  times,  till  I  can  hardly  sit  in  the 
saddle.  And  rings  of  light,  green  and  red  and  blue, 
dancing  before  one's  eyes,  whirling  about  at  a  furious 
pace  .  .  .  and  my  tongue  .  .  .' 

'  All  thick  and  furred  .  .  .  yes,  you  needn't  tell  us.' 
Pfustermeyer  shook  his  head  gravely.  '  It 's  plain 
enough.  Neurasthenia  and  rheumatism,  that 's  what 's 
the  matter  with  you.  There  's  only  one  cure  for  it,  and 
that 's  a  good  sharp  little  bout  of  hand-to-hand  fighting 
— it 's  the  only  thing.     You  '11  see,  it  '11  work  wonders.' 

*  Fighting  1 '  The  poet  stared  aghast.  '  Man,  you  're 
not  serious !  Rest — a  thorough  rest,  is  the  only  cure 
for  shattered  nerves  and  general  breakdown.  My  con- 
stitution .  .  .  why,  even  my  bowels  are  all  wrong — a, 
most  disgusting  complaint  .  .  .  have  to  fall  out  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  and — er — in  the  open,  you  know,  like 
a  beast  of  the  field  ...  it 's  unendurable.  I  hope 
you  may  never  feel  as  bad  as  I  do  at  this  moment.  .  .  .' 

'  No,  no,'  said  Pfustermeyer  sturdily,  '  it 's  not  as 
hopeless  as  you  think.  Once  we  're  attacked,  and  you 
find  yourself  in  the  thick  of  it,  you  '11  feel  a  different 
man.  No  more  paralysis,  no  more  coloured  pictures 
dancing,  no  more — er — falling  but  like  a  beast  of  the 
field — you  wait  and  see.'  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
'  Close  on  twelve  o'clock.  They  '11  be  coming  up  with 
us  at  any  minute  now.' 

The  poet  rose  hurriedly  to  his  feet.  'What — ^you 
think  .  .  .  to-day  .  .  .  already  .  .  .  ? ' 

'  Why,  of  course.  What  else  do  you  think  we  've 
been  digging  these  pretty  little  ditches  for  ?  ' 

'  I  thought  it  was  just  the  usual  precaution  .  .  .  and 
— ^we  've  been  marching  all  night.  Surely  the  Russians 
can't  .  .  .' 

'  That  shows  how  much  you  know  about  them. 
Haven't  you  noticed  that  they  generally  do  attack  about 
noon  ?  ' 


216  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Sarapatka's  nose  paled  at  the  tip.  'I  think — I 'd 
better  see  how  the  men  are  getting  on,'  he  said.  '  Per- 
haps .  .  .  '  And  the  poet  walked  away,  his  shoulders 
drooping,  a  miserable  figure. 

The  burly  captain  watched  his  retreating  form  with 
a  smile.  *  Nice  sort  of  soldier  that ! — ^what  ?  Tickled 
him  up  a  bit,  I  fancy.' 

*  Extraordinary,'  said  Grill  in  his  sharp  voice.  '  And 
that  is  the  man  who  talked  of  war  like  a  prophet  inspired 
— in  the  days  of  peace!  Jesting  apart,  though,  will 
there  be  anything  doing  to-day  ?  ' 

'  Of  course  not,'  growled  JPfustermeyer.  '  Did  you 
ever  know  the  Russians  attack  a  good  position  properly 
defended  ?  I  've  never  seen  them.  It 's  only  to  keep 
us  awake.  Here  's  the  Colonel  and  the  Major  coming 
up.  I  don't  mind  betting  we  're  ordered  to  march  on 
again  within  the  hour.' 

The  Colonel  inspected  the  defences,  and  found  them 
fairly  satisfactory,  all  things  considered.  And  about 
one  o'clock  there  came  a  whip-lash  of  command  from 
division  headquarters  :  The  retirement  to  be  pushed  on 
without  delay.  The  whole  long  front  of  covered  trenches 
which  had  cost  the  wearied  men  four  hours  of  hard  work, 
was  left  behind,  and  the  grey  columns,  staggering  from 
want  of  sleep,  trailed  forward  into  the  grey  of  the 
afternoon. 

T'  Possibly  the  Russians  may  have  been  taken  aback  at 
the  sudden  and  inexplicable  move.  At  any  rate,  they 
attempted  no  pursuit  at  first,  but  contented  themselves 
with  taking  possession  of  the  huge  storesjof  material 
that  had  been  left  behind  at  the  river-  [' 

^^     . 

Cossack  batteries  were  spattering  the  rearguard  with 
shrapnel,  firing  more  or  less  at  hazard  ;  the  shells  whined 
dismally  under  the  morning  sky.  The  little  bursting 
clouds  could  be  seen  far  off ;  the  Cossacks  seemed  to 
have  taken 'the  whole  dome  of  heaven  for  a  target.  It 
was  the  custom  to  make  a  jest  of  the  thing  :  the  men  had 
nlways  done  so  up  to  now,  jeering  at  the  fools  who  were 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  2ir 

trying  to  shoot  holes  in  the  blue  up  above,  and  urging 
them  facetiously  to  try  again.  But  to-day  it  was 
different.  Anxious  eyes  peered  out  in  the  direction 
whence  the  firing  came  in  irregular  rolls  of  thunder ; 
there  was  a  strange  silence  in  the  ranks,  and  the  men 
stepped  out  with  a  longer  stride.  A  little  nervous 
shiver  seemed  to  run  through  the  companies  from  time 
to  time.  With  shoulders  forward,  and  backs  more  bent 
than  was  their  wont,  they  hurried  on  ;  in  many  faces 
one  could  plainly  read  the  wish  to  run.  Run — off  into 
the  cover  of  the  woods.  Many  eyes  were  dull  with  the 
sense  of  hopelessness  :  all  they  had  done  up  to  now  was 
fniitless ;  however  they  toiled  and  fought,  the  end  was 
always  the  same — ^retreat.  Bitter  little  thoughts  were 
hammering  at  men's  brains,  as  if  gasping  in  time  to  their 
rapid  breathless  pace.  '  Had  enough — enough,  enough  !  * 
*  Push  on  and  get  out  of  it — out  of  it — out  of  it  1 '  It 
had  been  a  sorry  feast — and  it  was  they  who  had  to  pay 
the  piper.     On — on  !     And  the  pace  grew  quicker. 

The  captains  rode  beside  their  companies,  watchful 
as  men  guarding  untamed  beasts.  The  subalterns,  too, 
kept  a  close  eye  on  their  men  ;  they  could  see  the  spectre 
of  fear  hovering  about  the  ranks.  It  was  a  time  for  the 
sternest  discipline,  or  the  compact  mass  that  was  wont 
to  trudge  like  a  simple,  willing  beast,  might  break  at 
any  moment  into  a  thousand  desperate  units,  rushing 
in  headlong  senseless  flight  to  anywhere.  They  hurry 
on  in  ever  growing  dread  of  the  devils  at  their  heels. 
The  officers'  pistols  are  helpless  to  cope  with  the  threaten- 
ing panic  ;  at  any  moment  it  may  burst  on  them  like  a 
hurricane,  tearing  the  whole  formation  into  shreds. 

Grill's  revolver  is  hot  in  his  fingers  ;  three  of  his  men 
had  dashed  for  the  bushes  as  the  shrapnels  burst  over 
their  heads,  and  he  had  shot  them  down  as  a  warning 
to  the  others.  And  riding  slowly  round  he  shepherds 
the  rest  of  his  company  with  silent,  terrible  eyes.  They 
march  on,  faultlessly  in  step,  keeping  their  dressing 
minutely,  answering  to  the  stronger  will. 


218  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

The  Cossack  batteries  had  done  no  damage,  and  after 
a  while  the  firing  ceased.     The  troops  marched  on. 

'  Funny  thing,'  said  Pfustermeyer  to  Zillner. 
*  Deuced  funny  thing.  Plucky  as  anything  up  to  now, 
even  under  the  hottest  fire.  And  nbw — ^all  of  a  sudden, 
their  nerve  goes.  And  all  for  those  rotten  little  shrap- 
nels.    They  never  bothered  about  them  before.' 

Zillner  made  no  answer.  He  seemed  to  see  the 
heavens  full  of  flaming  signs  :  Woe  unto  those  who  had 
thrown  away  the  lives  of  men — the  blood  of  that  wasted 
sacrifice  should  be  upon  their  head.  He  felt  inwardly 
exhausted,  and  a  great  despair  was  at  his  heart. 

'  Look  at  that  lieutenant  of  yours,'  went  on  the  big 
man,  lowering  his  voice.  '  Never  known  him  look  so 
cheerful  before.  Might  think  he  was  pleased  to  be  going 
the  wrong  way.' 

'  Yes,'  agreed  Zillner  bitterly.  '  He  's  an  Austrian 
to  be  proud  of,  indeed  1 ' 

Lieutenant  Spicka,  the  Czech,  was  certainly  looking 
pleased.  He  walked  at  the  rear  of  his  men,  with  his 
head  in  the  air,  and  a  smile  of  mischievous  enjoyment 
on  his  lips.  He  seemed  to  be  occupied  with  agreeable 
thoughts  ;  from  time  to  time,  he  bowed  his  head,  as 
if  to  conceal  a  gleam  of  crafty  satisfaction  in  his  eyes. 
Then  up  again,  and  staring  at  the  knapsacks  of  the  men 
in  front  of  him.  He  told  his  thoughts  to  none  :  it  was 
not  his  way  to  confide  in  people,  least  of  all  Germans 
and  Hungarians  ;  he  kept  his  secret  proudly  locked 
in  his  own  Slav  heart.  Things  were  going  badly  with 
his  German  friends — Nazdarl  That  was  the  main 
thing,  and  enough  for  the  present.  Mother  Russia 
would  soon  arrange  the  *rest.  .  .  .  For  Spicka,  the 
retreat  was  a  triumphal  march. 

About  noon,  the  Tiefenbachers  halted  and  dug 
themselves  in.  The  Colonel  called  his  officers  together, 
and  explained  to  them  with  kindly  intent,  if  somewhat 
nervously,  how  entirely  innocuous  a  thing  was  a  shrapnel 
shell.    Musketry  fire  could  be  dangerous  at  times,  but  to 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER         •  219 

lose  one's  nerve  for  a  little  shrapnel  was  simply  ridicu- 
lous 1  It  made  a  noise,  and  that  was  positively  all. 
They  would  do  well  to  make  this  clear  to  the  men.  *  We 
must  keep  up  our  strength,  gentlemen.  It  is  not  un- 
likely that  we  may  this  very  day  .  .  .  the  enemy  is  not 
far  off,  I  understand.'  The  Colonel  concluded  his 
lecture  with  genial  warmth,  and  took  himself  off  to  his 
bomb-proof  shelter. 

'  All  sugar  and  spice  to-day,  the  old  man,'  said 
Pfustermeyer  to  Sarapatka.  And  with  a  chuckle,  he 
added,  '  We  shall  be  in  the  thick  of  it  to-day,  you  see.' 

'  It  '11  have  to  come  some  day,  I  suppose,'  said  the 
poet,  striving  to  appear  resigned  to  his  fate. 

'  If  I  were  you,  now,  I  'd  sit  down  and  work  out  a 
neat  little  "  Hymn  before  Action  " — do  you  good,  you 
know,  to  collect  your  thoughts.' 

*  Do  not  jest,  I  beg  of  you,'  murmured  Hans  Heinz. 
'  If  you  knew  what  I  feel  at  this  moment.  .  .  .  The 
whole  of  my  left  side  is  simply  dead.  .  .  .  I  'm  done  for, 
I  'm  afraid.' 

'  Get  out  1 '  laughed  the  other.  '  All  nonsense.  A  fine 
fellow  like  you  ! ' 

'  A  vulgar  fellow,'  thought  Hans  Heinz  to  himself, 
'  with  his  tactless  witticisms.  He  annoys  me.'  And 
he  resolved  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  telling 
him  so. 

But  the  opportunity  never  came.  That  day  the 
Russians  attacked,  half-heartedly,  as  usual,  but  in  over- 
powering numbers,  and  the  burly  captain  met  his  fate. 
The  first  volleys,  fired  at  long  range,  came  singing  over 
the  trenches ;  Pfustermeyer  was  standing  upright, 
calmly  on  the  look-out.  A  sudden  shiver  passed 
through  his  huge  frame,  and  he  fell  in  a  heap. 

They  dragged  him  carefully,  down  under  cover. 
*  Where  are  you  hit,  sir?'  asked  the  orderly  corporal, 
fumbling  at  his  tunic. 

*  Don't  bother,'  murmured  the  big  man  in  a  voice 
unlike  his  own.  '  It 's  no  good.  Through  the  stomach. 
All  over  now,' 


220  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

He  unfastened  his  tunic  with  difficulty,  drew  out  a 
leather  wallet,  and  whispered  :  *  Captain  Zillner — ask 
him  to  come  a  moment.'  The  jovial  round  face  was 
drawn  and  grey. 

Zillner   came   running    up,    and    knelt   beside    him, 

*  Pfustermeyer,  my  dear  old  friend — you  're  not — you 
mustn't  .  .  .' 

The  dying  man  drew  from  his  wallet  a  bundle  of  notes. 

*  Here — company  funds.  Two  thousand  five  hundred 
and  thirty-five  Kronen  .  .  .  should  be  .  .  .  twenty- 
three  hundred,  rest  in  twenties,  and  one  ten — count.' 

'  Don't,  man,  don't !  .  .  .'  Zillner  grasped  his  friend's 
hand;  he  felt  the  tears  choking  him.  '  My  good  old 
friend.  .  .  .'     He  could  say  no  more. 

The  big  man  smiled  faintly.  *  Officers  proceeding  on 
furlough,'  he  quoted,  '  .  .  .  hand  .  .  .  company  funds  * 
.  .  .  He  gasped  ;  there  was  hardly  the  breath  of  a  child 
in  all  his  body.  '  My  wife — tell  her  ^  .  .  Tiefenbachers, 
good  luck.  .  .  .'  His  voice  was  stifled  in  a  throbbing 
gasp,  and  a  moment  later  Zillner  closed  the  eyes  that 
had  smiled  so  bravely  all  along. 

A  soldier's  requiem  sang  through  the  air,  an  organ 
music  from  thousands  of  hellish  tubes  that  shrieked  and 
whined. 

^  The  big  man  lay  contentedly,  imperturbable  as  ever, 
unmoved  by  the  furious  din  ;  his  face  was  calm,  as  if  he 
knew  that  nothing  could  harm  him  now. 
T^The  whisper  ran  from  man  to  man  along  the  trench. 
'  The  Captain 's  down,'  and  many  hearts  winced  in  pain. 
His  servants  and  the  orderly  knelt  beside  him,  with  tears 
in  their  eyes — ^he  had  been  kind  to  them. 

Zillner,  with  head  erect,  strode  back  across  the  bullet- 
spattered  ground  to  his  company.  There  had  come 
upon  him  a  strange  and 'thrilling  sense  of  companionship 
with  death,  now  that  he  had  lost  his  dearest  friend. 
What  was  there  to  wait  for  ?  What  joy  could  it  be  to 
him  now  to  drag  on  through  the  rest  of  the  campaign, 
with  his  faith  gone  and  his  soul  dulled  ?  Men  sluggish 
by  nature  could  live  so,  and  sturdier  minds  could  make 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  221 

light  of  it  all.  But  for  him,  it  was  at  an  end.  A  bitter 
loathing  seized  hiin — the  senseless  waste — the  madness 
— that  human  beings  could  give  themselves  up  to  this. 
Death — death  was  the  only  sane  thmg  left  m  an  insane 
world.  It  made  an  end  ;  one  could  forget,  and  it  meant 
peace — peace  such  as  his  old  comrade  there_had  won — 
and,  perhaps,  meet  those  who  had  gone  .  .  .  perhaps, 
after  all,  the  soul  was  not  a  mere  invention  of  the  cheat- 
ing priests.     He  longed  to  taste  the  truth  of  life  ;  to  die. 

Tne  men  looked  curiously  at  him  as  he  walked  down 
the  line,  with  head  and  body  exposed.  But  not  a  bullet 
touched  him.  Fate  is  generous  of  the  gifts  we  do  not 
ask,  and  miserly  with  those  we  beg  for  .  .  .  ay,  and 
scornfully  cruel  wheii  we  seek  to  extort  some  favour  by 
defiance.  And  ZiUner's  fate  laughed  at  hun  now.  Not 
this  tune — no,  not  yet.  Let  hmi  nm  a  little  longer. 
•  .  •  .  •  •  • 

The  Tiefenbachers  held  out  until  the  evening,  and  then 
relmquished  their  rearguard  position  in  the  face  of  an 
overpowering  enemy  force.  Zillner  sprang  out  from 
cover,  and  sounded  his  whistle  :   '  Cease  fire  1     Retire  I ' 

Figures  of  men  glided  out  from  the  shadow  of  the 
trenches,  and  moved  back  into  the  misty  dark  behind. 
Zillner  glanced  to  the  left,  where  Spicka  lay  with  his 
men — no  one  moved.  He  shouted  across :  '  Lieutenant 
Spicka — retire  1 '  A  few  men  emerged — surely  that 
could  not  be  all  ?  '  Lieutenant  Spicka — retire  I  Do  you 
hear  me  ?     Fall  back  at  once ! '  roared  Zillner  again. 

Then  a  dark  mass  of  moving  figures  flowed  over  the 
breastwork  of  the  trench  from  the  front,  and  there  was 
the  sound  of  a  faint  '  Hurrah.'  Above  it  rose  a  single 
voice — ZiUner's  heart-beat  checked  as  he  heard  it — 
Spicka's  voice,  in  loud  entreaty :  *  Mi  sme  brairi,  niec 
striiat  I '  ^  And  like  an  echo  came  the  cry  from  the 
miserable  wretches  in  the  trench,  a  wailing  *  Niec  striUU  I  * 
There  was  no  further  attempt  to  retire. 

Zillner  felt  as  if  he  had  been  beaten  with  a  stick. 
Spicka's  men  had  thrown  down  their  rifles,  and  flung  up 
^  Wq  are  brothers — do  not  fire  ! 


222  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

their  arms  as  the  Russians  came  in,  begging  piteously 
for  quarter  :  *  Mi  sme  bratri  I ' — Cowards  I  It  wals  very- 
quiet  there  now.  The  men — his  men — ^were  fraternis- 
ing with  the  Russians.  A  sob  burst  from  him.  This 
was  the  meaning  of  that  triumphant  smile  on  the  face 
of  the  Czech  ;  this  was  what  he  had  been  looking  forward 
to  through  all  those  weary  days.  And  now  he  had  got 
his  wish. 

Zillner's  fingers  gripped  his  pistol  fiercely.  If  he 
could  reach  him  now  ! 

Behind,  in  the  enemy's  ranks,  Spicka  was  already  on 
his  way  to  a  safe  and  pleasant  captivity  among  his 
Slav  brothers. 

The  Tiefenbachcrs  fell  back  under  a  desultory  fire 
from  the  enemy,  and  were  soon  under  cover  of  the  dark. 
They  were  already  practically  out  of  range,  and  Zillner 
was  in  the  act  of  forming  up  his  men,  who  were  straggling 
a  little,  when  something  struck  his  left  shoulder  heavily. 
He  felt  but  little  pain,  and  gave  no  particular  heed  to 
what  had  happened,  but  after  a  few  steps  a  sudden 
faintness  seized  him.  He  clenched  his  teeth  and 
staggered  on  a  little — then  his  knees  gave  way  and 
he  sank  down  unconscious. 

At  the  dressing  station  he  came  to,  and  the  first  thing 
he  perceived  was  the  glow  of  a  cigar  close  above  his 
head.  A  surgeon  with  a  red  moustache  was  bending 
over  him.  '  H'm — perforation  of  the  shoulder-blade. 
Nothing  serious.  A  bit  lower  down  would  have  been 
awkward.     Next.' 

Zillner  looked  round,  vaguely  wondering.  He  was 
lying  in  some  straw  on  the  floor  of  a  big  room ;  there 
were  a  number  of  wounded  about.  The  voice  of  the 
surgeon  seemed  trampling,  as  it  were,  on  the  constant 
low  moaning  that  went  up  from  every  side. 

'  Get  the  bad  cases  out  in  the  passage.  That  '11  gvvt 
us  more  room.  Abdominal  wounds  can  stay  here  for  the 
present.    How  many  abdominals  are  there  ?  * 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  228 

'  Nine,  sir,'  reported  an  assistant. 

'  Leave  them  alone  as  long  as  you  can — and  out- 
side as  soon  as  .  .  .  you  understand.  We  must  have 
room.' 

A  rough  kind  of  lantern  threw  a  cone  of  faint  light 
down  through  the  close  air,  leaving  most  of  the  place 
half  dark.  A  staff  of  men  in  white  overalls  were  moving 
about.  From  somewhere  by  the  wall  came  a  fluttering 
prayer  :  '  Can't  you  help  me,  please  .  .  .  the  bandage 
is  soaked  with  blood,  and  all  my  clothes  .  .  .  the  pain  's 
awful.  .  .  .'  The  little  red  glow  of  the  cigar  came  to 
a  halt.  .  .  .  '  You,  is  it  ?  Pain  awful — yes,  I  know. 
The  bandage  is  all  right,  my  man,  you  've  nothing  to 
complain  of.  Pain  ?  Can't  help  you,  I  'm  afraid. 
We  're  not  here  to  work  miracles.  Next.'  And  the 
red  cigar-point  moved  on.  '  Any  knife  work  that  can't 
wait  ?  No — all  right  then.  We  can  leave  things  as  they 
are  for  a  bit.     How  are  things  outside,  by  the  way  ?  ' 

A  corporal  reported  that  there  were  rumours  of  enemy 
forces  close  at  hand. 

The  red  spot  ducked  and  quivered  a  little.  '  Oh — 
h'm.  In  that  case — we  must  get  away  from  here.  Have 
the  carts  ready  at  once.  Keep  four  for  the  doctors — 
take  the  slightly  wounded  in  the  others,  if  there  's  room. 
The  rest  must  stay  here.  Come  along,  gentlemen,  no 
time  to  lose.' 

The  red  glow  swept  like  a  meteor  down  the  wall  and 
vanished. 

Zillner  soon  noticed  that  only  the  badly  wounded  men 
were  left.  Here  and  there  he  could  hear  one  choking 
in  the  death  struggle  ;  a  man  on  his  right  gave  a  great 
gasp  and  lay  still.  The  Russians  were  coming — he 
would  be  taken  prisoner  ...  no,  anything  rather  than 
that.  He  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  found  he 
could  sit  up  without  pain,  and  attempted  to  rise.  He 
managed  to  stand  on  his  feet,  though  the  room  seemed 
swaying  about  him.  He  must  get  out  to  the  carts — he 
would  manage  somehow. 

Outside  all  was  confusion  and  shouting.    Vehicles 


224  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

drove  up  and  moved  off.  An  assistant  surgeon  came 
rushing  in  and  gave  a  hurried  glance  round.  '  We  are 
moving  off  from  here — they  are  firing  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  village  already,  and  we  must  give  up  the  place. 
Those  who  can  walk,  come  along  at  once — the  others 
remain  quietly  where  they  are.' 

Zillner  pulled  himself  together,  and  stumbled  towards 
the  doctor.  '  Lend  me  a  hand,  would  you  mind  ?  I  can 
manage  if  you  '11  just  hold  my  arm.' 

Ambulance  men  hurried  by  with  bundles  of  groaning 
humanity.  Two  men  with  their  heads  swathed  up, 
till  they  looked  like  bales  of  cotton,  came  hobbling 
along  by  themselves.  On  every  side  were  others  crying 
piteously  to  be  taken  in  the  carts. 

'  Very  sorry — can't  take  any  more,'  called  out  the 
surgeon,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  '  Hardly  room 
for  us  as  it  is.     Hurry  up  there — hurry  up  1 ' 

The  carts  were  ordinary  peasant  waggons  from  the 
neighbourhood.  Four  of  them  were  occupied  by  the 
doctors,  two  to  each  cart. 

The  youngest  of  the  surgeons  remained  behind  at  the 
dressing  station.  Three  men,  badly  wounded  in  the 
legs,  were  placed  in  the  fifth  cart,  which  was  slightly 
larger  than  the  rest.  Zillner  and  the  two  head -swathed 
men  sat  on  board  seats  above  the  prostrate  three,  and 
they  drove  off.  The  little  country  ponies  were  mged  to 
the  top  of  their  speed  ;  the  badly  wounded  men  on  the 
floor  of  the  cart  cried  out  terribly  at  fust,  but  soon  lost 
consciousness.  Zillner  was  suffering  agony  ;  he  bit  his 
lip  till  the  blood  came,  and  hung  on  desperately  with  his 
one  sound  arm  to  the  board  seat ;  every  bump  and 
shake  of  the  springless  axles  went  through  his  body. 
The  two  on  the  opposite  seat  held  each  other's  arms  for 
support,  their  bound  heads  rocking  like  grey  globes  in 
the  dark.  Thus  the  remainder  of  what  had  been  a  dress- 
ing station  rattled  on  into  the  night.  As  soon  as  they 
reached  the  high  road,  and  were  once  more  on  ground 
held  by  their  own  troops,  the  pace  slackened  ;  the  sense 
of  safety  made  itself  felt ;   men  foimd  their  voices,  and 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  225 

were  no  longer  oblivious  of  their  comrades.  They 
looked  at  one  another,  and  exchanged  sympathetic 
inquiries.  Even  those  who  had  been  shaken  almost  to 
death  found  strength  to  smile,  despite  their  shattered 
bones.  And,  lying  down  on  the  benches  in  the  waiting- 
room,  they  could  dream  that  all  their  miseries  were  at 
an  end  ;  could  give  themselves  up  to  longing  thoughts 
of  home,  and  look  forward  to  some  dear  embrace. 
Already  they  could  hear  the  rumble  of  the  hospital 
train  approaching. 

Zillner  sat  in  a  corner,  shaking  with  fever,  and  staring 
blankly  at  a  coloured  poster  advertising  travel  tickets. 
Suddenly  his  vis-d-vis  from  the  terrible  waggon  ride 
leaned  over  towards  him,  muttering  thickly  through  his 
bandages :  *  There !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  I  've 
always  said  war  was  a  filthy  business,  but  there  's  no 
need  to  make  it  worse  by  lying — more  especially  when 
the  liars  are  men  whom  everybody  trusts.    Read  that.* 

He  handed  a  paper  across — it  was  a  copy  of  a  pro- 
vincial daily.  Zillner  read  :  '  Official. — The  General 
Staff  reports  :  The  position  is  in  all  essentials  unchanged.' 

'  Unchanged.     I  wonder  what  they  call  "  essential  ".' 

Zillner  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  I  suppose  they 
deceive  themselves  as  well  as  others.  After  all,  don't 
we  do  the  same — or  did  till  a  while  back  ?  You,  I 
suppose,  came  into  the  thing  with  all  sorts  of  ideals, 
and  haven't  you  had  to  shut  your  eyes  to  the  truth 
pretty  often  since  ?  We  've  all  done  it — hundreds 
of  times  !  Again  and  again,  till  the  mind  breaks  down, 
and  leaves  us  miserable  slaves,  without  an  atom  of 
soldierly  spirit.  And  yet — think  of  the  time  when  we 
were  still  soldiers  at  heart — didn't  the  lie  seem  a  better 
thing  than  the  truth  as  we  know  it  now  ?  ' 

The  swathed  head  rocked  to  and  fro,  but  gave  no 
answer.  The  train  came  into  the  station,  there  was  a 
creaking  of  brakes,  a  hiss  and  sputter  from  the  engine, 
and  it  drew  up.  A  man  came  hurrying  along  the  plat- 
form, his  cheeks  red  with  the  cold,  his  eyes  bright  with 
excitement.     It  was  Hans  Heinz,  the  poet.     He  shouted 

p 


226  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

breathlessly  and  hurriedly  as  he  came  up.  '  Thank 
heaven,  I  've  found  you  again  !  I  was  afraid  I  should 
miss  the  train.  We  've  been  galloping  all  the  way  like 
mad.     It  was  terrible,  terrible  ! ' 

'  Are  you  wounded  ?  '  asked  Zillner. 

'  Worse  than  that,'  said  the  poet,  his  lips  quivering  in 
an  appeal  for  sympathy.  '  Shaken  to  death.  My  head 
— it 's  simply  agony.' 

Despite  his  plaints,  it  was  evident  that  the  prince  of 
poets  was  very  much  alive  ;  more  so,  indeed,  than  he 
had  seemed  for  a  long  time.  He  carried  his  head  high, 
with  the  air  of  a  Caesar  triumphant,  his  eyes  beamed 
with  a  sunshine  of  delight  at  the  kindly  fate  that  had 
granted  him  leave  to  pursue  his  studies  of  the  mysteries 
of  life  in  peace. 

The  cotton  bale  nodded  towards  the  train,  and  gurgled 
out  happily  :  '  That  means  home  !  Home — and  live 
like  a  human  being  again — ^and  feel.  .  .  .  Home,  the 
wife  and  the  little  ones.  .  .  .  Oh,  it 's  grand,  it 's  grand ! ' 

Zillner  said  no  word. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

There  was  certainly  a  great  deal  of  excitement. 
Fraulein  Erika,  the  assistant  nurse,  sprang  down  the 
stairs,  her  black  skirts  flying  behind  her.  She  came  to 
a  halt  at  the  bottom,  holding  her  side,  and  cried  out, 
'  They  '11  be  here  in  a  minute.  They  've  just  telephoned 
from  the  station.  Twenty-five  of  them  to  us — ^think, 
twenty-five  wounded  heroes  I ' 

The  Sisters  looked  out  over  the  park  to  the  drive — the 
hospital  had  until  recently  been  a  palace. 

'  Froschi,  my  dear,  pray  do  not  excite  yourself  so,' 
said  one  of  them,  an  older  woman,  whose  thin  face 
seemed  impregnated  with  the  bitterness  of  hard -won 
resignation.  '  Really,  one  might  think  you  were  a  child. 
Are  you  expecting  some  one  you  know — an  old  acquaint- 
ance perhaps  ? ' 

'  No,  of  course  not.  But  really,  it  is  exciting — ^and  I 
hope  I  'm  not  too  old  to  show  it.'  Fraulein  Erika 
tossed  her  head,  showing  a  wealth  of  brown  hair  under 
the  white  cap.     '  I  think  it 's  lovely  ! ' 

'  Lovely — H'm — not  always,'  put  in  a  fair,  broad - 
bosomed  girl  with  a  little  relroussS  nose.  '  You  wait 
till  you  've  seen  as  many  as  we  have.  Most  of  them 
aren't  a  bit  lovely — that 's  only  in  the  novels.  They  're 
dreadfuUy  rough  to  look  at  as  a  rule,  with  prickly 
beards — ^and  vermin  !  And  most  of  them  are  only 
common  soldiers.  Not  a  bit  the  sort  to  fall  in  love 
with.' 

'  What  nonsense,  Affi,'  answered  the  pretty  novice. 
'  Fall  in  love  with  them,  indeed — ^we  're  not  schoolgirls. 
But  you  can't  help  feeling  for  them,  after  they  've  been 
all  but  killed  out  there.  It 's  quite  a  different  thing. 
And  as  for  their  being  only  common  soldiers — ^well,  I 

227 


228  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

think  I  like  them  best.  And  the  ugHer  and  dirtier  they 
are  .  .  .' 

'  .  .  .  The  more  you  love 'them  ?  '  cried  the  fair  girl, 
and  the  other  laughed. 

'  Exactly.  And  I  like  the  common  soldiers  best. 
Any  one  can  be  nice  in  a  drawing-room.' 

'  Really,  if  we  are  to  have  wounded  heroes,  I  should 
certainly  prefer  them  without  vermin,'  said  the  elderly 
nurse.     '  I  can't  help  it — it  makes  me  shudder.' 

'  That 's  all  affectation  really,'  whispered  the  fair  Sister 
to  the  dstrk  girl  at  her  side.  '  She  'd  take  any  one, 
however  nasty,  if  they  'd  only  have  her.  But  nobody 
will.' 

'  Affi,  don't  be  horrid  ! ' 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  motor  hooting  outside. 

'  Here  they  come  ! ' 

Two  ambulance  waggons  drove  up  first,  followed  by 
a  number  of  hired  motor  cars,  with  two  officers  in  each. 
The  dressers  hurried  down  to  help  the  badly  wounded 
upstairs.  The  girls  stared  in  surprise — the  men  were 
all  old.  Even  young  subalterns  looked  extraordinarily 
aged ;  sharp-nosed,  hollow-cheeked,  and  with  stubbly 
beards  of  a  dirty  grey. 

'  There  's  nothing  very  fascinating  about  any  of  them 
up  to  now,'  said  Sister  Affi  with  a  sigh.  '  There  's  your 
soldier,  Erika,  the  one  getting  out  now,  with  his  arm  in 
a  sling.     Come  along,  I  '11  take  the  other.' 

Zillner  and  Sarapatka  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  ; 
the  two  girls  hurried  down  to  them.  '  This  way,  please. 
We  '11  help  you  upstairs.' 

The  poet  looked  at  them  with  eloquent  eyes.  '  Most 
kind,  most  kind  !     Angels  of  mercy — Ah  ! ' 

'  Only  Sister,  if  you  please.     Where  are  you  hurt  ?  ' 

'  Contusion  and  shock,'  said  Hans  Heinz  darkly. 
And  on  the  way  up  he  gave  a  thrilling  description  of 
how  the  explosion  of  a  heavy  shell  had  thrown  him  to 
the  ground.  '  Those  big  shells  are  terrible  things. 
Rushing  down  upon  you  out  of  the  unknown,  whirling 
poor  human  bodies  away  in  atoms.    And  the  mere 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  229 

force  of  the  air  is  so  terrific  that  it  can  fling  a  man  down 
like  a  plaything  !     I  was  fortunate,  Sister.' 

*  How  prettily  you  speak.  Just  like  an  actor. 
Then  you  can't  be  very  badly  hurt,  that 's  a  good  thing. 
But  it  must  be  dreadful.  .  .  .' 

Hans  Heinz  produced  an  affecting  tremor  of  the 
voice.  *  Ah  .  .  .  dreadful  1  .  .  .  One's  head  is  racked 
with  agonising  pains,  and  all  one's  nerves.  .  .  .  For  the 
moment,  though,  I  feel  vastly  improved.'  He  looked 
his  fair  companion  covertly  up  and  down,  noting  the 
rounded  contours  of  her  figure.  '  To  fall  into  such 
hands ! ' 

The  Sister  opened  a  door.  '  This  will  be  your  room.' 
The  little  dormitorj^  with  brilliantly  polished  floor  and 
two  rows  of  beds  looked  most  inviting.  '  You  will  want 
a  bath,  of  course  ?  ' 

Sister  Erika  took  the  cue,  and  put  the  same  question 
bashfully  to  Zillner.  He  was  so  dreadfully  solemn,  this 
man,  not  a  bit  like  the  other.  But  he  looked  up  at  her 
now  with  a  grateful  smile,  and  she  took  courage.  '  I 
must  help  you.' 

Zillner  felt  a  pleasant  warmth  at  his  heart.  This 
delicate  girl.  .  .  . 

'  Thank  you.  Sister,  you  are  very  good.     But  .  .  .' 

'  I  'm  sure  you  can't  manage  by  yourself,  with  your 
arm.  .  .  .'  The  novice  hesitated  between  embarrass- 
ment and  the  desire  to  help.  '  I  '11  be  so  careful,  and 
not  hurt  you  a  bit.'  And  her  eyes  turned  to  his  in 
childlike  appeal. 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly.     *  How  kind  you  are  ! ' 

The  girl  lowered  her  eyes.  '  We  are  here  to  help,  you 
know.' 

'  There  are  ways  of  doing  it.  I  like  your  way,' 
he  said  earnestly.  '  Not  every  one  is  good  as  well 
as  .  .  .' 

He  paused.  '  Come,'  she  said,  and  was  all  motherly 
energy  and  busy  care.     But  her  cheeks  glowed. 

Sister  Eva  led  her  poet  to  the  bathroom  and  took  her 
leave.     '  I  think  you  '11  find  everything  you  want,'  she 


230  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

said.    And  then  you  will  have  some  lunch — let  me  see 

.  .  cutlets,  omelette,  and  tea  or  coffee  .  .  .' 

'  And  cocoa,'  whispered  Erika. 

The  poet's  eyes  shone.  '  Never  in  my  life  have  I 
found  myself  so  near  to  paradise,'  he  affirmed  solemnly. 
'  Lunch — I  shall  be  delighted.  If  you  would  come  and 
let  me  know  .  .  .'  He  spoke  with  a  caressing  warmth. 
Then,  with  a  graceful  gesture  of  adieu,  he  withdrew  to 
his  bathroom. 

Zillner,  in  the  bathroom  next  door,  submitted  not 
without  embarrassment  to  the  touch  of  his  nurse's 
fingers  as  she  removed  his  tunic  and  shirt.  This  girl,  so 
young,  so  evidently  unused  to  the  work,  and  so  unlike 
the  hardened  professional  type — he  would  have  preferred 
to  manage  by  himself.  But  with  his  arm  it  was  impos- 
sible.    The  shoulder  seemed  bricked  up  in  bandages. 

'  There  !  it 's  slipped.  I  must  put  on  a  new  one.  Be 
careful  not  to  make  it  wet.' 

Zillner  found  it  difficult  to  fall  in  with  the  situation. 
Here  was  a  young  girl  of  good  family,  such  as  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  meet  in  the  empty  whirl  of  social 
intercourse,  standing  over  him  like  a  mother  and  pulling 
off  his  shirt.     He  was  the  more  embarrassed  of  the  two. 

'  There !  that  '11  do.'  She  turned  to  the  bath  and 
waved  a  thermometer.     '  How  do  you  like  it  ?  ' 

'  Just  as  you  think  best.  Sister.' 

'  Better  not  make  it  too  hot.  I  think  you  '11  find 
that  right.'  She  cast  a  glance  round  and  moved  to  the 
door.  '  I  '11  send  a  man  up  to  help  you  with  the  rest. 
Be  careful  with  the  bandage,  won't  you  ? '  And  with  a 
little  nod  she  left  the  room. 

Zillner  looked  after  her.  Out  of  the  chaos  of  misery, 
hope  and  doubt  and  despair,  out  of  the  ruin  of  his  shat- 
tered world,  rose  like  a  flower  the  delicate  figure  of  a 
woman. 

Hans  Heinz,  the  poet,  was  a  most  satisfactory  case. 
He  improved  wonderfully.  His  Roman  countenance 
regained  the  expression   of  condescending  superiority 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  231 

which  the  discomfort  and  peril  of  active  service  had 
come  near  to  effacing  altogether.  His  clean-shaven 
cheeks  were  perhaps  a  trifle  paler  than  in  the  days  of 
peace,  and  there  were  dark  rings  round  his  thoughtful 
eyes,  but  that  only  made  him  the  more  interesting.  He 
knew  it,  and  made  the  most  of  it,  as  he  strolled  with 
easy  graceful  gait  about  the  place,  shaking  his  perfumed 
locks  and  glancing  about  him  with  the  air  of  one  whose 
future  is  assured. 

'  Isn't  he  handsome  ?  '  whispered  the  Sisters,  as  he 
passed  them  with  a  kindly  encouraging  smile.  '  There  's 
a  dreadful  fascination  about  him,*  the  girls  of  excitable 
temperament  agreed,  and  those  of  a  more  aesthetic  turn 
murmured  ecstatically,  '  And  only  fancy — a  poet  too  ! ' 

Before  he  had  been  twenty-four  hours  in  the  place, 
he  had  confided  his  divine  mission  to  them  all,  and 
promised  them  his  autograph. 

*  And  for  you.  Sister  Eva — you  shall  have  a  poem  all 
to  yourself.     I  can  feel  it  coming  ! ' 

She  had  really  made  a  great  impression  on  him.  And 
it  was  a  pity,  therefore,  that  she  herself  seemed  so  little 
able  to  appreciate  the  costly  gift  he  promised.  '  Really ! ' 
was  all  she  said — and  afterwards  she  expressed  her 
surprise  at  his  being  able  to  write  any  new  poems  at  all 
after  being  so  badly  hurt.  A  shallow  creature,  thought 
Hans  Heinz,  with  an  irritating  roughness  of  manner  at 
times.  Well,  she  should  find  her  master.  He  could 
not  know  that  she  privately  regarded  him  as  a  conceited 
ape — and,  had  he  known  it,  he  would  certainly  have 
forgotten  it  at  once,  as  something  beneath  his  notice. 
As  it  was,  the  fair  head  and  pleasantly  rounded  figure 
set  the  little  channels  of  his  genius  aflowing,  and  filled 
him,  indeed,  with  a  rich  supply  of  lofty  thoughts.  Hans 
Heinz  was  in  the  best  of  spirits  ;  every  day  was  a  holiday 
to  him,  thanks  to  his  contusion  and  Sister  Eva. 

It  seemed  an  easy  matter  now  to  start  in  earnest  upon 
the  work  which  was  to  be  the  one  unique  real  epic  of 
modem  war.  And  before  long  the  thunderous  lines 
of  Canto  I.  were  down  in  black  and  white. 


282  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Zillner's  wound  proved  more  serious  than  he  had 
thought.  The  bullet  had  passed  through  his  shoulder, 
tearing  away  a  great  piece  of  flesh  at  its  exit.  The 
wound  had  festered,  and  brought  on  a  fever. 

Hans  Heinz  lay  in  the  same  room.  And  in  the 
intervals  of  poetic  production,  when  he  lay  drawing 
inspiration  from  the  wintry  sough  of  the  trees  without, 
or  polishing  his  nails,  or  silently  contemplating  Sister 
Eva's  charms,  he  would  from  time  to  time  vouchsafe 
a  sympathetic  inquiry  as  to  how  Zillner  was  getting  on, 
and  be  relieved  to  hear  that  he  was  making  progress. 

But  when  Zillner  one  day  suggested  that  Sarapatka 
was  looking  splendidly  fit,  and  would  soon  be  able  to 
return  to  the  front,  the  poet's  lofty  forehead  darkened. 
'  My  dear  fellow,'  he  said  reproachfully,  '  how  can  you 
think  of  such  a  thing  ?  The  physical  symptoms  are  less 
poignant,  I  admit,  but  that  is  not  all.  I  would  not  wish 
my  worst  enemy  to  suffer  the  tortures  I  endure.  A 
mental  obsession — hallucinations  .  .  .  noises,  terrific, 
appalhng !  Thunder  of  guns  and  incessant  rattling 
volleys  ...  at  night  I  am  surrounded  by  horrors. 
Sleep  is  impossible.  Dead  men  stand  round  and  glare 
at  me,  and  voices — voices !  .  .  .  No  !  Painful  as  it  is  to 
remain  inactive  in  a  time  of  great  things  happening, 
there  is  no  help  for  it.  I  must  pack  myself  off  to  a 
sanatorium — ^a  thorough  rest-cure  is  the  only  thing.' 

*  But  really,  I  thought  .  .  .  from  the  way  you  snore 
all  night  long.  .  .  .' 

'  All  night  long.  .  .  .  No,  no  !  In  moments  of  utter 
exhaustion,  perhaps,  when  the  agonising  visions  leave 
me  for  a  brief  space.  But  beyond  that — my  dear  sir, 
you  must  have  been  dreaming.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
see  another  suffer  as  I  do  at  nights.  You  have  no  con- 
ception of  what  it  means.' 

And  Hans  Heinz  inquired  no  more  after  his  com- 
panion's health.  A  few  days  later  he  came  in  himself 
in  triumph,  waving  a  doctor's  certificate  before  Zillner's 
eyes.  *  There — read  that,  and  perhaps  you  will  under- 
stand.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  288 

The  order  stated  that  Hans  Heinz  Sarapatka,  suffer- 
ing from  violent  neurasthenia,  was  to  be  granted  three 
months'  sick  leave. 

*  You  see,'  exclaimed  the  poet.  '  Thank  heaven  there 
are  yet  doctors  in  the  country  who  understand  their 
business.' 

'  I  see,'  answered  Zillner.  '  I  hope  you  '11  be  all  right 
again  soon.' 

'  It  will  take  time,'  said  the  poet  firmly.  '  That  sort 
of  thing  is  not  cured  in  a  month.  I  shall  go  to  the 
Wienerwald  at  first,  and  see  how  I  get  on  there.  Once 
I  am  thoroughly  restored — then  comrade  ' — his  voice 
had  something  of  the  old  heroic  ring — '  then,  if  such  be 
His  Majesty's  pleasure,  I  shall  be  proud  and  happy  to 
return  to  the  arena  ! ' 

Hans  Heinz  walked  off  with  light  and  easy  gait  to 
inspect  the  new  travelling  trunk  which  he  had  ordered  in. 
Zillner  watched  him  as  he  bent  over  it,  deftly  and  neatly 
packing  away  his  clothes  and  a  host  of  little  trifles.  A 
sense  of  loathing  came  over  him — an  intense  and 
nauseating  hatred  of  the  ingrained  falseness  and  mere- 
tricious seeming  with  which  this  man,  like  so  many 
others,  faced  the  demand  for  sacrifice.  All  those  actors, 
gaudy,  jangling  pageant  figures,  who  had  trooped  in  on 
to  the  scene  at  the  first  outbreak  of  war,  heralding  and 
glorifying  it  with  hollow  phrases,  only  to  retire  into  the 
background  as  reality  approached,  and  pull  the  strings 
from  a  safe  distance.  They  were  fitting  company  for 
the  Pharisees  and  hypocrites  who  juggled  with  dreadful 
facts,  sugaring  disaster  for  the  simple  by  assuring  them 
it  was  the  will  of  (iod.  Cheats  and  swindlers,  blas- 
phemously invoking  the  Almighty  to  witness  that 
murder  was  a  sacred  thing  !  What  a  ghastly  failure  was 
this  world,  with  its  superficial  codes  of  morality,  its 
religions  sowing  love  and  reaping  hate,  its  pseudo-sages 
in  their  cobwebbed  studies,  strewing  out  nebulous 
ethics  over  the  earth,  and  thinking  to  illuminate  it  as 
with  a  sun.  A  boy  with  a  pisto] — and  the  learned 
theories  collapse  !     A  shot  in  the  streets  of  Serajevo,  and 


i^34  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

ethics,  treaties,  moral  codes  are  forgotten  in  a  moment ; 
the  dusty  volumes  of  the  sages  are  torn  to  shreds,  and 
humanity  stalks  the  earth  nakedly  barbarous,  with 
shouts  of  hate,  and  threatenings,  and  a  wild  delight  in 
massacre  and  destruction.  Massacre  and  destruction 
in  the  name  of  a  beneficent  God  !  Men  of  a  cultured 
age,  yet  with  passions  no  more  tempered,  no  less  lewd 
than  in  the  youth  of  the  world,  when  they  had  fought 
in  cave  and  forest,  crushing  their  fellows  with  stones, 
or  tearing  them  with  their  teeth.  No  better  than  the 
predatory  biped  of  those  earliest  ages,  only  a  little  more 
complicated  in  externals.  The  whole  structure  of  society 
was  founded  on  a  lie  ...  a  lie  patent  to  all  save  the 
poor  ignorant  victims  whose  bones  were  crushed  to  make 
the  mortar  of  the  building,  and  the  dreamers  in  the 
attics,  whose  brains  were  mazed  with  their  own  imagin- 
ings. The  honest  souls,  the  men  of  simple  faith,  were 
cheated.  But  the  gluttons  who  could  thrive  on  it  all 
know  well  that  the  fairy  palace  was  a  sham,  and  they 
worshipped  it,  exploiting  the  faith  of  the  simple  in  the 
name  of  God. 

Soft  twilight  flowed  in  through  the  window,  flooding 
the  room  with  a  milky  gloom.  Zillner  looked  up,  and 
saw  in  the  doorway  the  dark,  slender  figure  of  the 
young  novice.  Quietly  she  stepped  across  the  room. 
'  Temperature  please.  Captain.  It 's  four  o'clock  I ' 
She  took  the  thermometer,  and  went  to  the  window  to 
read  it.  '  37*3 — you  've  no  fever  now  !  I  'm  so  glad  I ' 
Her  voice  rang  with  honest  sympathy. 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  '  Thanks,  Sister 
Erika.     You  are  always  so  good  and  kind.' 

'  I  'm  glad  you  're  better,'  she  said  simply.  '  Perhaps 
you  will  feel  more  cheerful  now — ^not  always  so  dreadfully 
sad.' 

'  You  must  come  often.  Sister  Erika — then  I  shan't 
think  of  the  sad  things  so  much.     Will  you  ?  ' 

'  I  ?  '  she  murmured  shyly — *  How  can  I  ?  ' 

'  Only  come  sometimes,  and  bring  a  little  sunshine.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  285 

She  glanced  down  at  him  ;  his  eyes  burned  with 
appeal.  A  sudden  feeling  almost  of  terror  seized  her  : 
she  felt  herself  drawn,  unwillingly  yet  irresistibly,  down 
towards  the  eyes  that  asked  something  of  her,  something 
that  her  youth  and  girlish  shyness  feared  to  see. 
'  I  will  come  as  often  as  I  can.  Good-night.' 
She  hurried  away,  leaving  Zillner  to  weave  golden 
dreams  through  the  dark. 

Golden  dreams  I  ...  it  was  good  to  lie  and  work  the 
pattern  out.  Untiringly  the  pictures  wove  themselves 
into  a  gossamer  veil  about  herself  and  him,  while  others 
were  moaning  and  dying.  Dreams  soft  as  the  starlight, 
with  no  kiss  to  break  the  delicate  threads,  no  rough 
grasping  after  palpable  things  that  would  have  torn  the 
fabric.  They  walked  together  as  on  a  day  of  early 
spring,  all  shy  budding  and  longing,  with  the  heat  and 
flower  of  summer  immeasurably  far  off.  Zillner  felt 
himself  refreshed.  The  chaos  out  of  which  he  had  come 
was  gone,  and  he  no  longer  looked  back.  He  felt  vaguely 
that  care  and  kindliness  and  love  were  all  about  him, 
and  it  made  him  glad.  The  dark  road  where  the  ruins  of 
his  soldierly  ambition  were  left  behind  had  opened  out 
into  a  new  and  brighter  way,  lit  by  another  sun.  And 
a  maiden  led  him,  half  unconscious,  softly,  by  the  hand, 
and  he  closed  his  eyes  and  followed  whither  she  would. 
So  he  dreamed  himself  slowly  on  into  a  new  life. 

His  wound  had  ceased  to  pain  him,  but  he  was  still 
unable  to  lift  his  arm.  The  doctors  declared  that  it 
would  be  sound  and  well  in  three  months'  time.  So  the 
days  came  and  went,  and  his  soul  rose  tentatively  on 
its  wings.  Often  it  would  fly  abroad,  seeking  for  the 
comrades  who  were  fighting  and  suffering  in  the  cold 
up  there  in  the  north.  It  fluttered  down  to  the  grimy 
little  men  hving  like  beasts  in  the  trenches,  waiting  with 
dull  eyes  to  be  led  to  slaughter.  It  hovered  over  many 
graves,  and  lingered  often  about  that  strip  of  sand  where 
the  big  body  of  his  brother  ofl&cer  had  been  laid  to  rest. 
And  then  it  would  come  rushing  back  to  the  present,  to 


236  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

the  sight  of  a  slender  girlish  figure,  where  it  rested, 
feeling  safe  and  warm,  as  in  a  world  of  flowers.  The 
world  without  was  dry  and  withered,  the  climate  so 
harsh  that  the  little  herb  of  truth  could  not  grow  there. 
The  papers  made  that  plain.  Zillner  read  the  brief, 
evasive  communiques  from  the  General  Staff,  and  the 
carefully  turned  comments.  He  read  the  laboriously 
constructed  accounts  sent  in  by  special  correspondents, 
whose  work  it  was  to  make  thrilling  copy  and  describe 
furious  encounters  out  of  such  matter  as  they  could 
gather  in  the  furnished  rooms  of  the  press  quarters  far 
in  the  rear.  He  noted  with  infinite  scorn  the  efforts  of 
that  victorious  war-bird  who  regularly  filled  his  little 
column  with  new  and  original  heroic  deeds.  '  This  way, 
ladies  and  gentlemen — ^this  way  for  the  heroes  !  Fresh 
every  week  ! '  And  the  heroes  spread  their  wings  in 
the  morning  edition,  and  twittered  loudly  of  things  done. 
As  to  where  the  ever-retreating  armies  had  last  halted, 
this  could  at  best  be  vaguely  conjectured  by  piecing 
together  of  mysterious  allusions.  The  fable  of  '  situa- 
tion unchanged '  had  apparently  been  abandoned  ;  but 
there  was  still  no  definite  information  that  could  be 
relied  on.  How  far  had  the  troops  fallen  back  ?  Zillner 
puzzled  over  the  question  in  vain.  The  official  reports 
said  nothing,  and  the  war-bird's  weekly  show  of  heroes 
remained  carefully  reticent  as  to  the  state  of  things. 

Early  in  December,  Karl  Albert  Kraft  was  brought 
in  to  the  hospital,  with  a  nasty  bullet  wound  in  the  leg. 
Zillner  was  horrified  at  the  change  in  his  old  friend's 
face.  The  quondam  enthusiast  lay  there  grey  and 
haggard,  with  thin,  compressed  lips,  and  spoke  bitterly 
of  what  had  passed  at  the  front.  The  Russians  had 
advanced  almost  into  Krakau  itself.  '  And  we  are 
simply  going  to  pieces,'  he  went  on.  '  The  Honveds  and 
the  Ruthenian  Landwehr  are  useless  ;  the  Czech  regi- 
ments run  like  hares.  Our  corps  had  hardly  more  than 
eight  thousand  rifles  all  told,  but  they  go  on  ordering 
us  about  as  if  they  had  forty  thousand  to  play  with.    It 's 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  287 

sheer  madness.  It  will  be  all  over  with  us  soon  at  this 
rate.' 

'  What — have  you  lost  faith  now  ?  ' 

'  I  've  no  faith  in  ourselves  any  longer,'  said  Karl 
Albert  harshly.  '  Unless  Germany  comes  to  the  rescue. 
German  strength  and  perseverance — that  is  what  we 
need  ;  if  not  .  .  .'  And  he  groaned.  Then  he  went  on 
excitedly  :  *  I  got  knocked  out  about  forty  kilometres 
from  Krakau.  Nearly  taken  prisoner  too.  It  was  a 
headlong  retreat,  without  any  pretence  at  keeping  order. 
We  were  supposed  to  check  the  mass  of  the  Russian 
advance — hardly  a  single  corps  we  were  all  told,  a 
mixed  up  contingent  of  different  regiments  that  had 
been  shot  to  pieces  and  thrown  into  confusion  already, 
and  the  enemy  five  to  one.  And  then,  mark  you,  as 
a  piece  of  sheer  lunacy,  the  main  body  of  our  army 
from  the  line  of  the  river  was  ordered  to  entrain  at  once 
for  the  north — the  Germans  there  were  being  forced 
back  on  Warsaw,  so  it  was  said.  We  had  to  reconstruct 
our  front — yes,  that 's  what  they  call  it — and  temporarily 
evacuate,  etc.,  etc.  The  whole  thing  was  carried  out 
in  a  frantic  hurry  ;  at  the  first  news  of  that  reverse  in 
the  north,  we  gave  up  the  whole  of  the  country  we  had 
won  back  at  such  a  cost — every  foot  of  it  bought  with 
blood  !     And  all  simply  thrown  away  ! ' 

'  I  couldn't  understand  it  either,'  said  Zillner.  '  Fall- 
ing back  continually,  without  plan  or  order — just  as 
we  rushed  in  headlong  last  August,  with  no  idea  of 
what  we  were  going  to  do.  I  was  wounded  on  the  third 
day  of  the  retreat — I  never  dreamed  it  would  be  as  big 
a  thing  as  you  say.' 

'  You  were  lucky ! '  said  Karl  Albert  with  a  bitter 
smile.  '  It  was  only  just  beginning  then.  The  rest 
were  bundled  off  headlong  to  the  railway,  and  sent  on 
from  there.  Our  corps  was  ordered  to  stay  behind  and 
check  the  enemy  as  far  as  we  could.  We  hung  on  as 
hard  as  we  could — the  German  regiments  .  .  .  but  what 
could  we  do  against  hundreds  of  thousands  ?  It  was 
only  a  question  of  time.' 


238  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  And  the  German  operations  about  Warsaw — what 
happened  there  ?  ' 

'  The  Germans  faced  about  and  pressed  forward  again. 
It  was  only  a  temporary  retirement.  But  we  had  given 
up  miles  of  our  own  territory,  after  it  had  cost  us  no  end 
to  win  it  back  once.     It 's  enough  to  make  one  sick.' 

'  And  what  do  you  think  will  be  the  result  now  ? 
Surely  they  won't  let  the  Russians  surround  Krakau  ? 
It  would  throw  open  the  whole  of  Silesia  and  Mahren.' 

'  Oh,  they  '11  wait  and  see  how  things  go  on.  That 
is  to  say,  they  see  the  Russians  making  a  happy  little 
parade  ground  of  the  whole  country,  and  they  look  on — 
giving  them  time  to  strengthen  their  position.  And  by 
the  time  the  enemy  's  dug  himself  in,  made  first-rate 
systems  of  trenches  and  got  up  his  batteries  into  ex- 
cellent positions — then  they  '11  have  a  sudden  fit  of 
energy,  and  set  to  work  to  try  and  turn  him  out.  Like 
letting  a  burglar  get  comfortably  into  the  house,  watch- 
ing him  barricade  himself  neatly,  and  then  suddenly 
coming  to  the  conclusion  that  he  's  no  business  there  at 
all.  It 's  the  ghastliest  muddle !  We  shall  be  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  world  ! ' 

Zillner  looked  at  his  friend  in  much  concern ;  the 
bitter  irony  with  which  he  spoke  was  altogether  unlike 
his  ordinary  genial  optimism. 

'  You  think  it 's  hopeless,  then  ?  ' 

Karl  Albert  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  If  our  allies 
in  the  north  come  in  and  help  us,  stiffen  us  up  and  push 
us  on  the  right  way,  we  may  pull  through.     If  not  .  .  .' 

'  Sunday,  then.  You  can  come  to  dinner,  and  tell  me 
all  about  your  little  passage  of  arms  with  von  Kreutzen. 
It  was  a  mad  thing  to  do,  but  it 's  just  like  you  to  do  it.' 

Clarisse  smiled  under  her  veil,  and  pressed  his  hand  as 
he  lifted  hers  to  his  lips.  Yes,  he  would  come  to  dinner. 
The  Kamtnerstrasse  was  crowded  with  well-dressed 
idlers  ;  he  watched  her  till  she  disappeared  in  the  throng. 
The  accidental  meeting  had  taken  him  by  surprise. 
How  handsome  she  was — and  as  young  as  ever  !    The 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  289 

heaviness  of  the  times  had  not  touched  her  ;  she  spoke 
of  the  war  as  if  it  had  been  a  charity  bazaar. 

Zillner  strolled  down  towards  the  Opera,  feeling  a 
little  chagrined.  Her  easy  assurance  of  manner  as  she 
greeted  him  had  thrown  him  into  a  momentary  con- 
fusion ;  the  charm  that  lay  about  her  like  a  splendid 
garment  made  itself  felt  even  now.  The  frank  con- 
fession in  her  eyes,  too,  had  embarrassed  him  ;  they  told 
him  so  plainly  that  she  had  not  forgotten.  It  would 
have  been  wiser  not  to  have  accepted  that  invitation. 
Still,  there  could  be  no  danger  now.  He  was  steeled 
against  all  other  charms  by  the  thought  of  one  young 
girl,  modest  and  sweet  as  violets,  fresh  and  pure  as  the 
waters  of  a  mountain  spring.  He  could  only  think  of 
her  in  lovely  words.  It  would  have  been  better,  perhaps, 
to  have  avoided  any  further  meeting  with  Clarisse  .  .  . 
but  it  would  have  been  awkward  to  explain.  .  .  .  After 
all,  to  go  and  dine  with  an  old  friend — it  was  ridiculous 
to  take  such  a  trifle  seriously  ! 

The  crowd  flowed  past  him,  pulsing  with  life  and  the 
longing  for  life.  Women  with  rounded  arms,  and  eyes 
that  seemed  to  beckon  him  with  a  promise — life — the 
same  life  that  only  some  few  kilometres  off  was  shed  in 
waste  upon  the  sand.  Perhaps  the  very  worthlessness 
of  life  there  made  one  the  more  eager  to  drink  deep  of  it 
here.  There  was  a  dance  of  death  toward,  and  those 
whose  lot  it  was  to  sit  out  were  aglow  with  a  double 
fervour.  The  air  was  full  of  chattering  and  cooing, 
heralding  the  duel  to  be  fought  for  the  life  that  was  to 
come.  The  women  had  with  sympathetic  mimicry 
adopted  the  feldgrau  colour  of  the  men,  and  tripped 
about,  ready  and  eager  to  do  their  part  for  the  future  of 
the  race  ;  the  part  that  should  make  them  mothers  of 
heroes  or  cowards,  great  or  small,  wise  men  or  diplomats. 
Dark  shadows,  mothers  and  wives  in  mourning,  flitted 
through  the  throng,  trailing  black  robes,  black  veils — a 
living  accusation  against  the  war  that  had  taken  their 
dear  ones.  But  the  life  of  the  crowd,  unheeding,  un- 
concerned, save  for  itself,  laughed  brutally.    Let  the 


240  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

dead  bury  their  dead — ^think  of  the  Hving  and  the  living 
that  are  to  come.  And  life  was  right — the  life  that  goes 
on  cannot  pause  to  think  of  the  dead. 

There  were  fewer  men  than  in  times  of  peace,  but 
always  more  than  one  seemed  to  expect ;  men  with 
some  physical  defect  which  rendered  them  unfit  for  life 
at  the  front,  and  others  who  were  considered  indis- 
pensable in  the  multifarious  life  of  departmental  work. 
All  of  them  appeared  to  realise  that  their  sex  was  at  a 
premium.  But  the  real  heroes — they  strode  like  gods 
among  the  rest.  The  women  flocked  about  them, 
sHpped  by  them  with  a  touch  that  pretended  to  be 
inadvertent,  hardly  concealing  the  desire  that  was 
constantly  whispering  within.  There  were  many  heroes 
abroad  that  day.  Some  limped  on  crutches  ;  most  of 
them  had  one  arm  in  a  sling,  as  Zillner  himself.  Some, 
too,  wore  a  becoming  black  bandage  across  the  face, 
hiding  a  first  gentle  reminder  from  the  man  with  the 
scythe. 

And  life  called  :  you  are  the  chosen,  take  what  is 
yours.  Make  the  most  of  the  hour  that  remains  ;  drink, 
and  drink  deep  of  the  sweetness,  for  the  time  is  short. 
To-morrow,  perhaps,  the  hail  of  lead  will  strike  you 
down.  Drink,  and  do  not  let  life  slip  by.  .  .  .  And  they 
heard,  and  took.  It  was  war  time,  and  they  made  their 
wooings  short,  and  bade  defiance  to  the  fate  that  called 
them  to  the  slaughter.  The  departmentals  heard,  and 
strove  not  to  be  left  behind.  Even  the  brainless  drones 
of  diplomats,  it  was  said,  made  progress  in  that  time  of 
death.  Only  the  refugees  from  wasted  Galicia  trailed 
in  melancholy  flocks  up  and  down  the  streets,  talking 
excitedly,  and  with  wild  gestures  accusing  heaven.  But 
even  they  answered  to  the  call  of  life.  And  life  smiled, 
knowing  that  all  must  pay  its  due ;  knowing  that  its 
grim  antagonist  must  be  outdone  at  last. 

Zillner  walked  back  to  the  hospital  under  a  blazing 
sun,  with  the  witching  murmurs  of  the  eternal  mystery 
ever  in  his  ears. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  241 

Under  a  blazing  sun  he  strode  through  days  and 
weeks.  The  noises  of  the  happenings  in  the  north  and 
south  came  to  him  only  as  a  faint  echo.  All  Vienna 
seemed  wrapped  and  muffled  to  keep  out  the  hellish  din 
of  pandemonium  that  rose  from  the  places  where  men 
died.  The  fugitives  cried  aloud,  but  their  voices  were 
discreetly  muffled  by  the  press  till  their  tale  could  be 
heard  without  offence.  Only  once,  when  the  melody  of 
'  Prinz  Eugen '  ended  in  a  too  violent  discord — when  the 
city  and  fortress  of  Belgrade,  after  capture  by  the 
Austrians,  was  lost  again  almost  at  once — only  then  did 
the  gay  orchestra  fail. 

Karl  Albert  cursed  and  swore  with  German  thorough- 
ness, and  Zillner  called  to  mind  the  evening  at  the 
Konzert-Haus,  when  Zapperer  had  talked  about  how 
Serbia  was  to  be  crushed,  how  the  plucky  little  country 
was  to  be  laid  at  His  Majesty's  feet  by  the  middle  of 
August  at  latest.  .  .  .  The  Chief,  it  will  be  remembered, 
had  been  of  the  same  opinion. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  December,  and  the  tones  of 
'Prinz  Eugcn '  were  drowned  in  a  swamp  of  blood. 

Christmas  Eve  came  round,  with  its  beauty  and  kind- 
liness and  gifts.  Women's  hands  had  been  lovingly  at 
work  upon  a  Christmas  tree  for  the  wounded  ;  its 
'  Peace  on  earth  ;  goodwill  towards  men  '  shone  out  so 
grandly  aloof  from  war  and  the  doings  of  war,  that 
Zillner  forgot  all  that  had  been,  and  gave  himself  up  to 
the  good  old  customs  and  to  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  warm 
brown  eyes  that  shyly  sought  his  own.  And  the  second 
star  that  beckoned  him — the  beacon  of  a  meaner  desire 
— paled  and  died  out  that  night. 

How  pure  and  delicate  she  was. 

Karl  Albert,  heated  by  Christmas  cheer,  flung  about 
impatiently  in  bed.  '  What 's  the  sense  of  lying  here 
doing  nothing,  and  being  spoiled  by  the  Sisters,  bless 
them  !  We  've  no  business  to  be  idling  here  any  more. 
The  others  are  dymg  out  there,  while  we  are  making 
love.    Yes,  you  too — I  've  seen  you  making  eyes  at 


242  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Sister  Erika  ;  I  'm  not  blind.  A  nice  sort  of  soldier, 
aren't  you  ?  ' 

Zillner  laughed.  '  Yes,  it  is  about  time  we  got  out  of 
all  this.  But  we  shall  have  to  wait  a  bit,  I  'm  afraid. 
You  hobble  about  as  lame  as  a  General  Staff  report, 
and  my  arm  's  not  much  better.' 

'  H'm,'  grumbled  the  painter.  '  It 's  all  very  well 
for  you — tied  up  to  a  petticoat.  But  I  'm  getting  sick 
of  it  lying  here  doing  nothing,  with  the  biggest  thing 
we  've  ever  been  in  for  going  on  out  there — and  we  're 
out  of  it  all.' 

'  Lying  up  like  pashas  and  getting  fat,'  laughed 
Zillner.     '  You  're  right.     It 's  time  we  were  out  of  it.' 

But  Zillner's  thoughts  were  far  from  war  and  battles, 
sailing  over  a  rosy  sea. 

Then  came  a  day  when  the  warm  south  wind  played 
among  the  trees  of  the  park,  and  Karl  Albert  stepped 
out  over  the  wet  gravelled  walks,  trying  the  strength 
of  his  leg  in  a  march  at  the  regulation  pace.  '  Hurrah ! — 
getting  on  finely,'  he  cried,  and  looked  round  beaming. 

And  Zillner  held  out  his  left  arm,  and  swung  it  round 
in  circles.     '  All  right  again  now.' 

And  chaos  grasped  at  them,  calling  them  back  to  the 
places  whence  they  had  come  ;  they  had  but  one  thought 
now — ^to  report  themselves  as  fit  for  service  again. 

The  spring  might  rustle  there  among  the  trees  full  of 
rising  sap  ;  might  shake  the  buds  with  the  impatience 
of  a  lover  till  they  awoke  and  opened  out ;  might  sing 
its  loveliest  songs  from  the  throats  of  happy  birds — ^the 
two  men  did  not  heed. 

Karl  Albert  was  full  of  great  majestic  thoughts  ; 
the  call  of  his  splendid  race  in  its  hour  of  need  ;  he  was 
burning  to  be  in  action  once  more,  to  feel  himself  a  part 
of  the  giant  body,  a  living  atom  in  the  mighty  Pan- 
Germanic  force. 

Zillner's  heart  suffered  at  the  parting.  But  his 
soldierly  faith  was  growing  stronger,  and  he  helped  it  on 
as  bravely  as  he  might  by  the  thought  of  the  grimy, 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  24fi 

wearied  men,  the  poor  simple  souls  that  suffered  out 
there.  And  he  felt  himself  longing  to  be  among  them 
once  more. 

Next  day  the  two  men  went  off  in  a  car,  and  a  girl's 
eyes  watched  it  till  it  disappeared  through  the  gates,  and 
left  her  gazing  into  the  sky,  that  rose  bluely  over  the 
spring-swelling  trees. 

And  Sister  Erika  groped  her  way  slowly  up  the  steps 
into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

In  Vienna  the  heavens  had  drawn  their  light  of  spring 
from  eyes  bright  with  girhsh,  reluctant  longing.  In  the 
little  Hungarian  town  the  sky  was  grey.  There  was  no 
need  of  brightness  there  :  who  would  have  cared  for  it  ? 
Not  the  peasants  and  drivers,  urging  heavy-laden 
waggons  through  the  sticky  swamps  that  served  as 
roads,  nor  the  soldiers  dragging  mud-burdened  boots 
through  heart-breaking  depths  of  mire.  Not  even  the 
quondam  Brigadier,  now  further  promoted  to  Field - 
Marshal,  who  had  for  three  weeks  past  been  '  holding  the 
position.'  He  sat  in  his  little  town,  a  dismal  pessimist, 
bowed  over  his  microphones,  and  would  not  have  heeded 
the  sky  however  bright  it  might  have  been.  No,  grey 
was  the  only  suitable  dress — for  all  concerned. 

And  so  the  sky  looked  down  sullenly  over  the  land, 
as  if  cast  in  lead  !  A  great  dome  of  unbroken  grey, 
melting  away  in  the  south  into  undulating  country  with 
low  hills,  and  sharply  serrated  on  the  north  by  the  black 
points  of  the  pine  forests.  Mightily,  heavily,  it  rose 
from  the  mountains  there,  where  the  far  guns  could  be 
heard  thundering  sullenly.  Grey,  all  grey,  a  lashing  of 
whips  and  cursing  of  men,  a  creaking  of  waggons  and 
gasping  of  horses,  the  plodding  of  heavy  boots  through 
the  mud — all  seemed  grey  as  the  sky. 

Zillner  and  Kraft  had  come  out  with  drafts  of  reserves 
from  the  depots  to  join  their  regiments.  They  listened 
to  the  voices  of  the  guns,  and  knew  that  chaos  was  near. 
Heavy  guns  roared  out  a  welcome  :  '  Come,  all  is  as  it 
was  ;  you  will  find  what  you  left.  Last  time  at  the  river, 
now  in  the  mountains.'  Like  a  great  bell  calling  cattle 
to  the  slaughter — so  rolled  that  thunder  from  the  hills. 

The  two  friends  marched  silently  side  by  side,  the  new 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  245 

recruits  behind  them,  weighed  down  with  the  burden 
of  their  winter  clothing  and  accoutrements,  plodding  on 
into  the  unknown.  In  a  little  village  not  far  from  the 
forests  that  cut  off  the  leaden  sky,  they  separated  ; 
Kraft  had  still  many  kilometres  to  go,  but  Zillner  had 
reached  his  destination  now,  and  went  in  at  once  to 
report. 

Colonel  Zwirner  sprang  up  from  his  armchair  with  a 
certain  hurried  geniality  of  manner,  rang  his  heels  to- 
gether, and  slapped  Zillner  on  the  shoulder,  with  an 
ingratiating  smile.  '  Delighted  to  have  a  good  man 
back  again,'  he  said  heartily.  '  The  position  at  present 
is  this.  .  .  .'  And  he  went  on  to  explain  at  consider- 
able length  the  disposition  of  the  troops  on  the  hills, 
the  scheme  of  their  defences,  and  how  they  had  hitherto 
contrived  to  bar  the  way  against  all  attempts  of  the 
Russians  to  force  a  passage  into  Hungary.  The  regi- 
ment had  done  excellently.  '  Hold  on  stubbornly,  and 
never  yield  a  foot.  That  must  be  our  motto,'  he  con- 
cluded, *  until  our  German  allies  can  come  up — then 
forward,  shoulder  to  shoulder !  The  eyes  of  Austria  are 
upon  us  here — that  must  nerve  us  to  maintain  the 
struggle.'  Another  clap  on  the  shoulder,  and  a  ring  of 
the  spurred  heels  :    '  Auf  Wiedersehen  !  ' 

Zillner  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  having  heard 
it  all  before,  only  to  be  disappointed.  This  new  man 
certainly  proffered  the  stereotyped  phrases  with  a  certain 
forceful  confidence,  but  he  was  clearly  of  the  sort  whose 
one  main  interest  is  their  own  advancement ;  one  could 
not  altogether  trust  him.  There  was  a  suspicious 
twitching  of  the  comers  of  the  mouth,  his  eyes  were 
restless,  and  his  forehead  wrinkled  and  smoothed  con- 
tinually, betraying  a  current  of  thought  not  always 
agreeable  to  himself. 

'  Looks  a  better  sort  than  the  last,'  commented  Zillner 
afterwards,  speaking  to  the  Adjutant  outside.  '  What 's 
happened  to  Colonel  Prapora — ^have  they  made  him 
Brigadier  already  ?  ' 

Captain  Wurkner  sat  in  a  sort  of  pantry,  drawing 


246  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

maps.  His  face,  always  pale,  was  grey  and  haggard  now 
from  want  of  sleep.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in 
answer  to  Zillner's  words  :  '  The  last  man — no,  he  's  at 
a  sanatorium.  Nervous  breakdown.  It  was  about 
time  too.  You  've  no  idea  what  we  had  to  put  up  with 
before  their  lordships  saw  what  was  wrong.  The  regi- 
ment was  simply  going  to  the  dogs.  As  for  myself — 
well,  if  we  hadn't  got  rid  of  him,  I  should  have  blown 
my  brains  out,  I  think.  All  this  winter  .  .  .  you  may 
think  yourself  lucky  you  were  out  of  it.' 

'  But  now  ?     It 's  not  so  bad  as  it  has  been,  I  hope  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  things  are — ^well,  better  than  they  were,'  said 
Wiirkner  slowly,  and  his  near-sighted  eyes  wandered 
indecisively  over  Zillner's  face.  '  We  manage  somehow. 
You  '11  see  for  yourself  very  soon.  Zwirner  is  one  of 
those  fellows  who  pat  everybody  on  the  back — ^you  know 
what  I  mean,  so  don't  make  too  much  of  your  reception 
to-day.  Still,  he  's  seen  service,  at  any  rate,  the  last 
year,  and  has  some  idea  of  handling  men.' 

'  Plenty  of  energy,  it  seems.' 

'  Yes,  I  dare  say.  He  's  not  altogether  a  neuras- 
thenic wreck  up  to  now,  seems  to  have  some  grit  in 
him,  and  isn't  always  bothering  about  his  bomb-proof 
shelter  as  the  last  man  was.' 

Zillner  looked  at  the  other  in  surprise.  '  You  've 
changed  a  good  deal  yourself,'  he  said.  *  I  've  never 
known  you  iipeak  so  bitterly  before.' 

'  Changed ! — ^H'm,  well,  yes,  I  dare  say  one  does,  you 
know.  If  you  'd  been  through  these  last  few  months 
here ;  men  dying  off  uselessly  in  front,  and  a  fool  of  a 
colonel  behind,  and  behind  him  again  the  Division  Com- 
mander— it 's  a  wonder  I  've  any  wits  left.  We  've 
picked  up  a  bit  lately — the  Germans  are  coming  to  help, 
so  they  say.  But  three  weeks  ago,  when  we  set  out  to 
relieve  the  fortress  and  failed  ...  It  was  the  usual 
thing  ;  advance  at  haphazard,  then  rolled  up  and  head- 
long in  retreat.  I  'd  a  thousand  times  rather  have  an 
honest  bullet  through  the  brain  than  go  through  all 
that  once  more.    Ask  the  Major — he  '11  tell  you  what  it 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  247 

was  like.  I  haven't  time  now.  See  this — coloured 
sketches  of  the  ground  held  by  battalions,  "  with  profiles 
of  all  defences  " — for  Division  Headquarters,  j^ou  under- 
stand. They  don't  leave  one  much  time.'  And  Wiirk- 
ner  bent  over  his  colour  box  and  papers  once  more. 

Zillner  went  across  to  battalion  headquarters.  Major 
Blagorski,  too,  was  changed.  In  the  half  dark  of  the 
little  room  sat  a  grey  shadow  of  a  man  with  a  straggling 
moustache  ;  a  shadow,  that  greeted  him  with  melan- 
choly friendliness,  offered  him  a  chair,  and  poured  out  a 
couple  of  glasses  of  liqueur  brandy.  '  Glad  to  see  you 
back.  Captain.  There  aren't  so  many  of  the  old  lot 
now.  We  can't  complain,  though.  Grill  and  Crlenjak 
are  here  still.  But  Pfustermeyer — well,  you  know,  of 
course  .  .  .  and  poor  Hallada  !  he  was  always  a  little 
afraid  of  me — I  don't  know  why.  Yes,  they  're  gone. 
.  .  .  And  I  'm  the  only  one  of  the  battalion  com- 
manders that 's  left.  Take  a  drop  more  ?  Yes,  we  've 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  this  winter.  Fighting  nearly  every 
day.  .  .  .  Let  me  see,  what  was  your  company  ? 
Number  four — yes,  yes.  You  won't  find  many  of  the 
old  ones  left.  The  little  cadet,  the  Hungarian,  what 
was  his  name — he  was  shot,  and  the  other  one  died  of 
fever.  Makes  one  feel  lonely  in  a  way.  .  .  .  Sort  of 
left  behind,  you  know.  .  .  .' 

A  wave  of  bitterness  and  anger  surged  through 
Zillner' s  heart.  He  too — Andrei.  The  brave  boy  with 
eyes  of  a  young  eagle,  his  favourite,  and  now  picked  out 
by  blind,  mad  chance.  .  .  .  The  Major  sat  drumming  on 
the  table  with  his  fingers,  murmuring  to  himself,  '  Left 
behind,  left  behind.'  His  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Then 
suddenly,  as  if  ashamed  of  having  betrayed  his  feelings, 
the  grey  old  soldier  sat  up  stiffly,  and  cleared  his  throat. 
*  Doesn't  do  to  think  too  much.  No.  And  you  mustn't 
fancy,  from  what  I  've  said,  that  ...  I  mean ;  it 's 
not  so  bad,  you  know,  after  all.  We  're  fit  enough,  and 
we  can  hold  on  all  right.  The  men  are  good  stuff,  the 
younger  ones  especially.  The  oldsters  are  a  trifle 
nervous    perhaps.     But    taking    it    all    round,    things 


248  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

aren't  so  bad.  Not  bad  at  all.  There,  my  dear  fellow, 
you  '11  see  we  shall  manage  all  right.  You  'd  better  get 
some  rest  while  you  can.     We  're  in  reserve  to-day.' 

Zillner  turned  to  go.  In  the  doorway,  the  Major 
called  him  back.  '  By  the  way,  there 's  one  thing  .  .  .' 
He  put  on  his  glasses  and  fumbled  among  the  papers  on 
the  table.  '  Army  order — and  a  nasty  one  to  hear. 
Here  it  is.'  And  he  read  aloud  :  *  "  Army  Order.  In- 
telligence Department  reports  that  the  Russians  are 
organising  Czech  battalions  to  take  part  in  the  opera- 
tions on  the  Warsaw  front.  Russian  prisoners  confirm 
this,  and  state  that  Austrian  prisoners  of  Slav  origin 
are  invited  to  enter  these  battalions,  especially  those  of 
Czech  nationality.  It  has  further  been  found  that 
Russian  agents  are  distributing  certificates  to  Czech 
soldiers  testifying  to  their  Pan-Slavonic  sympathies.  In 
order  to  combat  these  treacherous  intrigues,  company 
commanders  will  frequently  and  without  warning  search 
the  persons  of  the  men,  with  a  view  to  ascertaining 
whether  any  are  in  possession  of  such  certificates,  or 
other  documents,  emanating  from  the  Pan-Slavonic 
propaganda.  Any  men  on  whom  such  papers  are  found 
will  be  handed  over  at  once  under  escort,  to  be  dealt 
with  by  the  Divisional  Command." 

'  So  you  see  there  's  blackguardism  about,'  went  on 
the  Major.  '  Not  among  our  people,  I  'm  glad  to  say  ; 
still,  you  never  know.  The  new  Colonel — yes,  he  's  very 
nice  and  obliging  always — he  says  the  same  thing  : 
Can't  be  too  careful.  So  you  'd  better  make  your 
visitations  according  to  order.     Servitor e.  Captain.', 

Zillner  found  his  company  greatly  changed  in  outward 
appearance.  Almost  all  the  men  were  new  to  him  ;  the 
few  old  hands  looked  almost  grotesque  in  their  ragged 
uniforms,  supplemented  now  by  all  sorts  of  civilian 
winter  clothing  as  worn  by  the  natives  of  the  country 
round.  Woollen  hose  and  kneewarmers,  jerseys,  short 
fur  coats  of  peasant  make,  felt  boots,  and  knitted 
mufflers,  often  in  the  queerest  combinations.  The 
inevitable  coating  of  dirt  over  all  gave  them  at  any 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  249 

rate  a  uniform  colour.  The  ugly  regulation  headgear, 
which  gave  its  wearers  the  expression  of  melancholy 
clowns,  had  almost  entirely  disappeared,  being  replaced 
by  fur  caps.  Only  the  nineteen-year-old  recruits  were 
still  neat  and  shining — even  the  lice  hardly  ventured  to 
approach  them,  as  yet.  But  a  few  weeks  in  the  field 
would  soon  give  them  the  proper  tone  and  aroma.  .  .  . 

Nechleba,  the  scapegoat,  was  frankly  pleased  to  see 
his  captain  again.  And  Zillner  noticed  that  he  wore  the 
silver  medal  for  courage  on  the  breast  of  a  looted  yellow - 
grey  Russian  cloak.  He  said  a  few  words  of  commenda- 
tion, and  the  man  explained  with  pride  how  he  had 
taken  a  Russian  officer  prisoner  while  out  with  a  patrol. 
'  And  here,  sir,'  he  went  on,  turning  up  the  stock  of  his 
rifle — *  Sixty-five  of  them  up  to  now— all  noted  down.' 
He  pointed  with  a  grin  to  the  ugly  row  of  notches  that 
marked  his  '  bag,'  and  stood  as  if  conscious  of  having 
done  something  especially  worthy  of  praise.  But 
Zillner,  looking  into  the  fierce,  wild  face,  with  its  black 
tufts  of  hair  and  beard,  shuddered  inwardly  at  the 
primitive  bestiality  of  the  man,  and  dismissed  him  with 
a  perfunctory  '' Schon  gut,  schon  gut.' 

With  such  men,  he  thought,  one  might  conquer  the 
world — but  what  a  world  !  Ashes  and  ruins,  a  desola- 
tion of  misery  and  tears.  With  men  of  that  type, 
Ghengis  Khan  and  Tamerlane  had  laid  Europe  at  their 
feet ;  the  Turks  had  advanced  to  the  gates  of  Vienna. 
The  Nechlebas  of  the  seventeenth  century  had  formed 
the  staple  of  that  motley  horde  which  for  thirty  years 
had  trampled  Germany  underfoot.  All  for  the  glory 
of  God — the  God  that  sided  neither  with  Luther  nor 
with  the  Pope,  but  only  looked  on  well  pleased  to  see 
how  men  tortured  and  slew  their  fellows  in  His  cause. 
Of  the  same  type,  too,  were  the  men  from  whom 
Napoleon  had  drawn  his  finest  warriors,  the  indomitable 
ones  on  whose  breast  he  pinned  the  red -ribboned  cross 
with  his  own  hand.  It  was  they  who  gave  his  mighty 
spirit  the  hand  with  which  to  smite  ;  tigers  of  battle 
they   were,   beast-men,   without   restraint   or   scruple, 


250  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

cunning,  wild,  and  cruel.  Here  was  a  man  who  had 
been  in  prison,  and  now  wore  the  decoration  coveted 
by  heroes.  In  time  of  peace,  thick  walls  were  built  to 
keep  him  apart  from  society,  and  thin-skinned  laws 
sought  to  prevent  the  type  from  spreading.  To-day 
he  wears  the  Emperor's  image  in  silver  on  his  breast, 
and  is  honoured  and  admired  by  those  who  would  before 
have  drawn  aside  from  him  haughtily  or  in  fear.  Wild 
sacred  force  of  war  !  Let  loose  the  chiefs  of  the  Apache 
bands,  manslayers  and  past  masters  of  the  trade  of 
murder ;  open  the  doors  of  gaols  and  turn  the  stream 
on  to  the  fighting  line,  fill  the  trenches  with  undis- 
mayed artists  in  slaughter,  the  leaders  of  the  guild — not 
lurking  cowardly  hyaenas  fit  only  to  lie  in  ambush. 
Daylight  murderers,  men  who  kill  openly  and  un- 
ashamed, they  are  the  men  who  should  be  soldiers.  Put 
them  in  uniform,  send  them  to  the  front,  and  they  would 
win  gold  and  silver  medals  every  one  of  them.  The 
gallows-bird  who  knows  his  business,  the  bandit  ready 
for  any  foolhardy  venture :  where  would  they  find  better 
use  for  their  skill  than  in  war,  as  servants  of  its  '  wild 
and  sacred  '  force.  Men  with  some  slight  remains  of 
culture,  men  who  shudder  weakly  at  the  thought  of 
fratricide,  will  at  the  best  only  drag  half-heartedly 
through  the  ghastly  work  ;  even  when  the  lust  of  blood 
is  upon  them,  they  can  still  remember  that  they  are 
human  beings.  But  the  slayer  by  nature,  the  man  of 
undiluted  primitive  barbarism,  cuts  notches  on  his 
rifle  butt,  and  counts  over  the  tale  of  his  victims  with 
pride  and  delight.  And  he  is  a  hero — a  winner  in  the 
lottery  run  by  the  rule  of  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth. 

Zillner's  thoughts  barked  at  him  like  furious  hounds 
as  he  went  to  his  quarters.  And  even  after  he  had  lain 
down  in  the  straw  to  rest,  there  was  still  one  that 
growled  on.  Why  not  let  the  great  roulette  players  at 
the  green  tables  cultivate  that  type  of  man  for  the  future? 
Have  a  stock  of  them  ready  for  the  next  world -war.  In 
the  sentimental  times  of  peace,  those  pillars  of  society 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  251 

were  often,  it  is  true,  liable  to  be  hanged  before  they 
had  had  time  to  propagate — society  had  not  properly 
realised  their  value  to  the  race.  The  war  must  put  an 
end  to  all  those  sickly  scruples. 

Wearied,  and  full  of  loathing,  Zillner  fell  asleep  at 
last.  But  a  young  girl  came  into  his  chamber  and  drove 
the  hounds  of  his  thoughts  out  into  the  chaos  of  the 
roaring  night ;  and  drew  a  soft  veil  over  him  as  he 
slept.  And  lo,  the  hero  Nechleba  with  his  sixty-five 
notches  vanished  away — vanished  with  all  his  world 
of  filth  and  lice  and  stoical  misery  draped  in  choice 
lying  phrases.  That  first  night  in  the  Waldgebirge, 
Zillner  slept  in  a  great  light  hall,  glittering  with  a 
silvery  sheen.  And  his  mother  entered,  a  gleaming 
figure,  with  her  good,  anxious  face — no,  anxious  no 
longer,  but  with  a  sunlit  smile,  such  as  he  had  rarely 
seen.  And  she  led  a  young  girl  by  the  hand,  a  shy  and 
slender  girl  in  the  black  dress  of  a  hospital  nurse.  '  Tell 
him,'  said  his  mother,  '  for  he  cares  for  you.' 

And  timidly  the  girl  began  : 

•  Take  then  my  hand^  and  guide  me 

Where  thou  dost  wend, 
Ever  and  aye  beside  me 

Unto  the  end. 
Through  all  the  world  unheeding 

All  else  but  thee  ; 
Thy  love  my  footsteps  leading 

Eternally  ! ' 

And  he  felt  her  hand,  and  pressed  and  kissed  it.  And 
his  mother  was  happy. 

So  fair  were  Zillner's  dreams  that  first  night  in  the 
Waldgebirge. 

Next  morning  he  went  out  with  his  new  subaltern 
to  inspect  the  trenches  of  the  section  reserve.  Lieutenant 
Artur  Lewit  was  an  excessively  slender  young  man, 
with  a  businesslike  politeness  of  manner  and  a  thin  face 
of  the  rodent  type.  In  civil  life,  he  was  a  partner  in  a 
drapery  firm.    He  had  been  three  months  in  the  field, 


252  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

and  his  narrow  chest  was  already  decorated  with  the 
medal  for  courage.  The  two  men  walked  slowly  up  the 
straggling  mountain  paths  to  a  ridge  fortified  by  a 
strong  and  carefully  elaborated  system  of  trenches. 
It  was  a  little  fortress  in  itself,  with  barbed  wire 
entanglements,  excellent  machine-gun  positions,  and 
roomy  underground  quarters  for  officers  and  men. 
Left  and  right,  the  porcupine  front  extended  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  see,  taking  full  advantage  of  the  hilly 
and  wooded  country.  The  intervals  between  the 
separate  positions  were  filled  with  abbattis,  barbed 
wire,  and  pits  lined  with  stakes,  and  masked  batteries 
v/ere  drawn  up  at  the  village  in  the  rear. 

'  Impregnable 's  the  word,  sir ! '  said  the  slender 
lieutenant,  with  an  elegant  wave  of  the  hand.  '  The 
sappers  have  done  their  work  well.  Out  there  in  front, 
the  next  ridge — another  formidable  line.  We  've  three 
positions,  one  behind  the  other.  Impossible  to  break 
through — can't  be  done.'  He  sniffed  at  the  moist  air. 
'  Nothing  much  doing  to-day — slack  time.'  He  pointed 
over  to  the  left :  '  That  corner  of  the  wood  there,  that 's 
cote  679,  where  the  Collaltos'  rayon  begins.  The 
Russians  have  tried  it  six  times,  each  time  in  enormous 
force — ^reckoned  to  take  it  by — ^^vhat  d'  you  call  it  ? — 
by  sheer  weight  of  numbers.  But  they  never  reached 
within  a  hundred  yards.  And  their  casualties  have 
been  up  as  high  as  fifty  per  cent.  There  's  no  margin 
in  that  sort  of  business — it  doesn't  pay.' 

Zillner  listened  attentively.  It  interested  him  to  note 
the  confident,  almost  arrogant  tone  of  this  young 
gentleman,  who  came  of  a  race  that  had  been  said  to  be 
of  no  military  value  in  the  field,  and  only  serviceable 
to  some  extent  on  the  general  staff.  Yet  here  was  a 
subaltern,  after  three  months  of  active  service — ^three 
terrible  winter  months — looking  out  over  the  position 
with  his  keen  crafty  eyes,  and  talking  triumphantly. 
A  lark  sprang  up  from  the  ground,  and  rose  singing  into 
the  air,  higher  and  higher ;  Zillner  watched  it  floating 
like  a  tiny  grey  speck  in  the  sky.     And  for  the  first  time 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  258 

after  many  months  he  began  to  feel  that  the  senseless 
flick  and  lash  of  orders  from  the  rear,  the  hurry  and 
confusion,  the  useless  sacrifice  of  men  in  aimless  advance 
and  retreat,  had  after  all  not  destroyed  everything  that 
was  of  value.  There  were  still  new  forces  left,  growing 
stronger  despite  all  the  misery  and  muddle.  The  army, 
the  people,  were  there  still. 

'  And  what  do  the  men  themselves  think  of  it  ?  '  he 
asked.     *  Are  they  as  confident  as  their  lieutenant  ?  ' 

'  Why,  sir,  that 's  a  difficult  question  to  answer  off- 
hand.' The  draper  put  his  head  on  one  side,  with  the 
air  of  a  business  man  presiding  over  a  liquidation. 
'  They  're  rather  sick  of  it,  to  tell  the  truth,  especially 
the  older  ones.  But  they  stick  it.  Making  the  best  of 
a  shaky  market.  They  put  in  all  they  can,  and  I  think 
they  '11  go  on.  Sound,  old-established  firm,  this  army  ! 
It 's  not  going  to  pieces  just  yet.' 

'  But  if  the  Russians  can  keep  on  throwing  fresh 
masses  of  troops  against  us  here — ^well,  it  might,  I 
suppose  ?  ' 

'  It  won't,  sir — if  you  '11  excuse  my  saying  so.  I 
don't  believe  it  can.  Every  man  here  knows  what 
he  's  fighting  for.  They  've  all  got  their  homes,  and 
they  know  what  '11  happen  to  them  if  we  are  knocked 
out  here.  Each  one  of  them  knows  that  if  he  runs 
away,  it  means  danger  to  his  home,  his  wife,  his  business, 
and  then  when  things  go  wrong,  he  's  done  for  after  all. 
So  they  stick  it — hang  on  to  their  posts  tooth  and 
nail.     It 's  a  fine  thing  ! ' 

'  You  're  right  there,'  said  Zillner.  '  The  finest  thing 
the  war  has  shown  us,  the  only  great  thing  about  it  all, 
is  that  wondei-ful  strength  of  the  people.  Common  men, 
born  and  brought  up  under  a  perfidious  system,  and 
thrust  out  into  sordid,  pitiable  misery ;  each  of  them 
still  holds  fast  by  the  one  real  thing  behind  all  the  false 
phrases,  the  sense  of  home.  The  great  ones  talk  about 
the  things  they  're  fighting  for,  but  the  common  men  die 
for  them ;  and  their  lives  are  thrown  away  in  what  the 
great  ones  of  the  nation  dare  to  call  a  righteous  cause.' 


254  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

Lewit  whipped  out  a  notebook  with  a  sudden  dexterous 
movement.  '  I  wonder  if  you  'd  mind  my  noting  that 
down  ?  "  Born  and  brought  up  under  a  perfidious 
system,  and  thrust  out  into  sordid  and  pitiable  misery  " 
— ^that  's  fine  !  Striking,  incisive — ^very  fine  indeed  ! 
I  was  at  a  commercial  school  myself — ^we  don't  get 
much  poetry  there,  you  know.  By  the  way,  sir,  I  shall 
have  to  report  to  you  now,  of  course.  There  are  one 
or  two  little  trifles — men  opening  their  emergency 
rations,  and  little  things  of  that  sort.  Would  you  like 
the  report  brought  up  to  your  quarters,  or  to  the 
office  ?  ' 

*  At  the  office,  please.' 

'  Very  well,  sir.  I  will  go  on  ahead  and  give  the 
necessary  orders.'  And  with  a  brisk  and  elegant  move- 
ment, the  draper  turned  and  strode  away. 

Zillner  followed  slowly.  Larks  hovered  in  the  air  on 
every  side,  singing  and  trilling  invisibly  out  of  the 
grey. 

The  company  commanders  dined  at  the  Major's 
quarters,  where  Zillner' s  air  of  health  and  general 
fitness  excited  much  good-natured  chaff  among  the 
rest. 

'  Bullet  through  the  shoulder  's  not  such  a  bad  idea 
after  all,'  said  Grill  thoughtfully.  '  Wish  I  had  your 
luck  !  ' 

Crlenjak,  the  withered  mannikin,  whose  moustache 
had  grown  a  shade  whiter,  murmured  half  to  himself : 
'  No,  it 's  a  funny  thing.  .  .  .  Clothes  all  shot  to  pieces, 
but  never  a  bit  of  a  wound.  ...  I  don't  know  .  .  .' 

'  Never  mind,'  said  Zillner,  '  I  haven't  a  medal  to 
stick  on  my  tunic,  like  you.  Congratulations,  by  the 
way.' 

Both  Grill  and  Crlenjak  wore  the  red  and  white 
ribbon  of  watered  silk  that  goes  with  the  military  cross. 

'  It  will  come  in  time,  brother,  you  won't  have  to  wait 
long.  Especially  since  your  subaltern  is  decorated — 
and  a  Jew  into  the  bargain.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  255 

*  A  very  queer  one,  by  the  way,'  put  in  Grill.  *  Plucky, 
and  up  to  all  the  arts  of  war — like  the  Maccabees.  He 
was  out  a  little  while  ago  on  a  reconnaissance  in  the 
enemy's  lines.  Managed  it  finely.  Got  all  but  sur- 
rounded at  the  finish,  and  cut  his  way  through  in 
splendid  style.  It 's  all  rot  about  the  Jews  lacking 
courage  if  they  're  like  him.' 

'  Wait  a  minute,  brother ' — the  little  Croat  looked 
up  from  his  plate  and  waved  his  knife  in  the  air  to 
command  attention.  '  He  may  be  an  exception,  but 
it 's  a  fact,  about  the  Jews,  as  a  race.  A  business 
people,  but  pluck — no  !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  don't 
understand  .  .  .' 

'  My  dear  Jovo,'  said  Grill,  his  hard  features  curving 
to  an  ironical  smile,  '  you  are  mistaken.  Strength 
makes  the  man,  and  the  Jewish  race  is  full  of  strength. 
I  can't  see  at  all  why  the  cold  intelligence  and  rapid 
presence  of  mind  that  all  Jews  have  should  not  be 
enough  to  make  them  excellent  soldiers.  They  have 
at  any  rate  energy  to  subdue  the  inner  man.' 

'  It 's  not,  all  the  same,'  cried  the  mannikin.  '  And 
I  '11  tell  you  why.  The  Jew  is  too  clever  to  be  what  we 
call  plucky.  He  looks  at  the  thing,  and  says  to  himself 
— there  's  no  business  in  this  ;  it 's  not  a  profitable  deal. 
And  so  he  prefers  to  keep  out  of  it.' 

'  You  might  say  the  same  of  many  Christians.  But 
to  say  that  Jews  as  a  whole  are  a  cowardly  race  is  not 
fair  to  begin  with,  and  they  've  proved  the  contrary 
hundreds  of  times,  in  this  war  as  well  as  others.  I  think 
we  may  take  it  that  there  are  brave  men  and  cowards  in 
every  race.     Why  should  it  be  otherwise  with  the  Jews?  ' 

'  Because — ^well,  look  at  the  way  they  live.  Always 
turning  up  to  do  business  in  places  where  there  's  no 
personal  risk,  but  as  soon  as  it 's  a  case  of  a  real  venture, 
with  life  at  stake,  there  's  not  one  of  them  .  .  .' 

Grill  put  up  one  hand  in  protest.  '  That 's  merely 
a  popular  prejudice.  It  may  have  been  so  to  a  certain 
degree  in  earlier  times,  but  to-day,  the  Jew  does  his 
business  amid  all  the  dangers  of  a  rather  merciless  world. 


256  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

And  he  masters  his  trade,  whatever  it  may  be,  and 
goes  on  perseveringly,  everywhere.  Why  should  he  not 
master  this  ?  ' 

'  Well,  he  's  not  sound,  you  know.  You  can't  trust 
him.  He  'd  give  away  the  Lord  Himself  if  he  saw  any 
profit  in  it.  Not  to  be  trusted,  brother — not  to  be 
trusted.  Do  anything  for  a  price  !  And  what  .  .  .  but 
I  won't  say  any  more.'  The  little  man  was  red  in  the 
face,  and  pulled  his  moustache  furiously. 

'  You  're  prejudiced,'  said  Grill  coldly.  '  It 's  no 
good  trying  to  convince  a  man.  .  .  .' 

'  Not  a  bit,  brother,  not  a  bit.  .  .  .' 

'  Still,  there  's  a  couple  of  things  I  'd  like  to  point  out. 
In  the  first  place,  the  Jews  have  tamed  the  filthiest  and 
most  dangerous  beast  that  ever  walked  the  earth — 
namely,  the  mob.  Organised  them — ^with  the  help  of 
a  few  Christians — made  men  of  them  and  given  them 
some  idea  of  their  own  power.  A  mighty  work,  far 
more  difficult  and  dangerous  than  taming  lions  and 
teaching  tigers  to  jump  through  circus  hoops.' 

'  Tamed  !  Hoodwinked,  you  mean.  Blinded  them 
with  a  lot  of  swindling  hocus-pocus  !     That 's  all.' 

'  Even  then.  It  was  a  plucky  thing  to  start  on.  And 
however  they  managed  it,  they  have  succeeded  in 
bringing  the  filthy  proletariat  to  some  sense  of  its  human 
dignity,  taught  even  the  lowest  to  recognise  that  God's 
image  among  the  poor  is  no  more  and  no  less  than 
among  kings  and  emperors.  Don't  mistake  me, 
gentlemen.  I  don't  say  I  admire  the  results,  but  merely 
the  thing  itself^  And  then  the  other  thing  I  would 
ask  you  to  remember.  You  say  that  the  Jew  would  do 
anything  for  a  price.  A  catchword  !  What  does  it 
mean  :  "  For  a  price  "  ?  Look  about  you,  and  see  where 
you  can  find  any  man  who  wouldn't  do  anything  for  a 
price.  It 's  only  a  question  of  how  the  price  is  to  be 
paid.  The  Jews  are  no  better  than  the  rest  of  us,  but 
they  are  certainly  no  worse.  No  worse  than  princes  and 
priests,  ministers  and  lickspittle  courtiers.  The  only 
difference  is  that  they  're  generally  cleverer,  and  better 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  257 

able  to  use  their  opportunities.  And  so  they  come  out 
on  top,  and  it 's  the  fashion  to  run  them  down  for  the 
way  they  managed  it — especially  among  those  who  *re 
green  with  envy  because  they  didn't  manage  it  them- 
selves.' 

'  Well,  brother,  I  don't  think  I  'm  green  with  envy,* 
put  in  the  Croat.  '  What  do  you  mean  ?  Bogami ! 
I  swear  I  don't  envy  them  a  bit.' 

'  My  dear  fellow,  of  Oourse  I  wasn't  thinking  of  you,' 
said  Grill  in  a  conciliatory  tone.  And  Major  Blagorski, 
who  had  been  crumbling  pellets  of  bread  all  through 
the  discussion,  suggested  anxiously  that  they  should 
chan ge  the  sub j  ect . 

There  was  a  pause,  but  before  a  new  topic  could  be 
started,  there  came  an  interruption  from  without. 
The  Adjutant  entered,  with  a  telephone  message  from 
Division  Headquarters  that  there  was  heavy  fighting  in 
progress  on  the  heights  occupied  by  the  Collaltos,  where 
strong  enemy  forces  had  attempted  to  break  through. 
The  battalion  was  to  hold  itself  in  readiness  in  canton- 
ments, and  await  further  orders. 

The  officers  hurried  out  to  their  respective  commands. 
The  noise  of  the  firing  told  that  the  Collaltos  were  heavily 
engaged.  Even  at  that  distance  one  could  discern  the 
sharp,  irregular  scolding  of  the  musketry  and  the  busi- 
nesslike hammering  of  the  machine-guns.  The  question 
as  to  Jews  and  their  courage  remained  undecided.  The 
Major  glanced  anxiously  over  in  the  direction  of  the 
Colonel's  quarters.  He  was  wondering  whether  any 
one  had  noticed  that  the  alarm  had  found  him  sitting 
at  dinner  instead  of  in  his  office. 

Zillner  found  his  company  already  drawn  up  ;  the 
colour-sergeant  was  handing  out  reserves  of  ammunition. 
And  the  innocent  object  of  the  Grill-Crlenjak  discussion 
reported  smartly  :  '  All  here,  sir.  Hundred  and  thirty- 
three  rifles  ;  and  three  hundred  rounds  per  man.' 

The  Tiefenbachers  were  not  called  upon  to  take  part 
in  the  fighting\^that  day.     The  firing,  that  had  lasted  all 

K 


258  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

the  afternoon,  slackened  towards  the  evening,  and 
ceased  altogether  by  sunset,  when  the  treetops  stood 
out  sharply  drawn  against  the  red  western  sky,  and 
blue-grey  shadows  crept  over  fields  and  meadows. 
And  shortly  after,  news  came  in  that  the  Collaltos  had 
victoriously  driven  back  a  brigade  of  the  enemy, 
almost  annihilating  a  whole  Siberian  regiment,  and 
taking  many  prisoners. 

'  First-rate  stuff,  the  Collaltos,'  said  Lieutenant  Lewit, 
laying  his  head  on  one  side  with  a  satisfied  air,  as  if 
reviewing  the  turnover  after  an  autumn  sale.  '  German 
regiment.     Stand  any  amount  of  wear.' 

Late  that  night — the  men  had  been  dismissed — the 
telephone  on  Wurkner's  map -littered  table  called  up 
again.     Urgent ! 

And  a  thick  voice  called  along  the  wires  :  '  Hallo, 
hallo  !  I  'm  the  Divisional  Staff,  The  enemy  have  got 
in  here.  The  staff  has  cleared  out.  Russians  here 
already — hear  what  I  say  ?  Hurry  up  and  drive  them 
back.     For  God's  sake,  hurry  ! ' 

The  Adjutant  called  back  :  '  Hallo  !  Who  's  that 
speaking  ?     How  many  of  the  enemy — ^what  ?  ' 

*  I  'm  Captain  Za-Za-Zapperer.  Urgent,  as  quick 
as  you  can  !  .  .  .'     The  voice  stopped  with  a  snap. 

Wiirkner  attempted  several  times  to  get  on  to  the 
Division  again,  but  without  avail.  The  apparatus  gave 
no  answer,  but  he  fancied  he  could  hear  the  sound  of 
firing.  He  gave  it  up,  and  hurried  across  to  Major 
Blagor ski's  quarters. 

A  few  minutes  later  Zillner  and  Crlenjak  were  leading 
their  companies  at  the  double  along  the  muddy  road 
to  the  village.  The  moon  was  nearly  full,  and  the  sky 
was  full  of  milky  clouds.  After  ten  minutes  or  so,  the 
headlights  of  a  big  car  sprang  upon  them  out  of  the 
vagueness  ahead.  The  senior  medical  officer  and  the 
head  of  the  supplies  stood  like  pillars  one  on  either 
step,  the  rest  of  the  staff  had  packed  themselves  in  the 
back  seat  or  beside  the  driver.    His  Excellency,  the 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  259 

quondam  Brigadier,  halted  the  car,  and  proceeded  to 
vent  his  wrath  upon  Zillner.  '  You  take  your  time, 
sir !  The  regiment  is  asleep,  apparently.  But  I  '11 
wake  them  up,  I  '11  wake  them  up  I  The  place  is  to  be 
recaptured  at  once,  you  understand.  A  nice  state  of 
things,  indeed  I  ...  At  any  cost — you  understand  ? 
You  have  at  least,  I  hope,  arranged  for  quarters  for 
us?' 

Zillner  could  only  say  that  nothing  had  been  done 
with  regard  to  this,  as  no  information  had  been  received 
of  his  Excellency's  coming  that  way  at  all. 

'  What 's  that  ?  No  information  ?  Why,  I  gave 
orders.  .  .  .  Yes,  to  you,  Captain  Zapperer — how  is 
this  ?     Did  you  not  pass  on  my  instructions  yourself  ?  * 

The  answer  came  in  a  deferential  whisper  from  the 
seat  beside  the  chauffeur  :  '  Your  Excellency — the  tele- 
phone— er — appeared  to  be  out  of  order.  And  I  judged 
it  inadvisable  to  remain  .  .  .  our  departure  imperative. 
...  I  could  not  quite  .  .  .' 

His  Excellency  shook  his  head  resignedly.  '  My 
staff  I '  he  said  bitterly.  '  My  staff !  A  little  unexpected 
disturbance — and  they  cannot  even  arrange  for  my 
quarters.  A  pretty  staff !  But  I  '11  .  .  .'  He  broke 
off  suddenly,  and,  turning  to  the  driver,  roared  out, 
'  Gk>  on,  man,  go  on.  .  .  .'  And  then  to  Zillner : 
'  You  understand.  Captain,  the  place  is  to  be  retaken 
— at  any  cost ! ' 

The  chauffeur  had  got  down  from  the  car,  and  was 
busy  with  the  starting  mechanism.  Zapperer  seized  the 
opportunity,  and  whispered  to  Zillner  :  '  Ah,  my  dear 
fellow — do  me  a  favour  !  The  archives,  you  know — 
reports,  drafts,  everything — er — left  behind.  K  you 
could  manage  to  .  .  .  awfully  obliged,  awfully  .  .  .' 
His  face  was  a  sickly  grey,  and  wore  the  expression  of 
Macbeth  perceiving  Banquo's  ghost.  This  time  it  was 
no  mask. 

The  car  got  under  way  and  drove  off.  The  little 
Croat  captain  looked  after  the  retreating  staff  dis- 
gustedly.    '  Well,  they  Ve  got  the — h'm — stomach  out 


260  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

of  order,'    he    said   philosophically.     '  Anyhow,    we  'd 
better  get  along.'     And  he  strode  off  briskly. 

The  grey  snaky  lines  of  men  went  clattering  on  towards 
the  village  as  fast  as  the  sticky  mud  allowed. 

Shots  rang  out  in  the  market  place.  Outside  the 
division  field  hospital,  a  little  way  down  the  main  street, 
stood  a  German  doctor,  waving  the  Red  Cross  flag. 
'  Don't  draw  their  fire  this  way  ! '  he  shouted  as  the 
Tiefenbachers  hurried  past.  '  We  are  unarmed.  We 
are  neutral,  in  the  exercise  of  our  calling.  Don't  draw 
them  this  way  ! ' 

Zillner  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  sight  of  this 
Samaritan  gesticulating  with  the  banner  of  inviolable 
neutrality.  '  All  right,'  he  called  back,  *  we  '11  do  our 
best ! ' 

The  medico  grounded  his  flag  with  a  martial  air, 
wiped  his  forehead,  and  snuffled  out  once  more :  '  We  're 
neutral.     In  the  exercise  of  our  calling.     Don't  forget ! ' 

The  two  companies  emerged  into  the  square,  and  at 
the  same  moment  a  detachment  of  the  Collaltos  hurried 
up  from  the  farther  side,  with  loud  hurrahs.  The 
Russians  were  driven  in  confusion  into  the  centre,  or 
tried  to  make  off  down  the  side  streets,  only  to  find  the 
way  barred  by  the  bayonets  of  Crlenjak's  men.  Zillner 
charged  into  the  ragged  groups  ;  they  flung  down  their 
rifles  and  held  up  their  hands.  Over  seven  hundred 
men,  a  whole  battalion  with  their  officers,  surrendered 
on  the  spot.  The  officer  in  command  explained  that 
they  had  fallen  into  a  trap,  through  having  trusted  to  a 
peasant  who  had  led  them  the  wrong  way.  He  accepted 
his  fate  resignedly,  however,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  and  said  in  broken  Polish  :  '  For  me,  the  war 
is  now  over.  Kismet !  You,  gentlemen,  will  not  be 
able  to  say  the  same.     Not  for  a  long  time.' 

The  whole  affair  had  scarcely  lasted  more  than  a 
quarter  of  ant  hour,  and,  save  for^'^a  few  men  slightly 
wounded,  there  were  no  casualties.  Zillner  and  Crlenjak 
shook  hands  heartily.     '  Does  me  good,  brother,'  said 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  261 

the  little  man,  *  to  round  up  a  few  of  the  dogs  like  that.' 
And  he  looked  round  contentedly.  ;.' 

A  figure  came  running  across  from  the  other  side  of 
the  square,  where  the  Collaltos  were  drawn  up — it  was 
Karl  Albert  Kraft.  He  embraced  Zillner  excitedly. 
'  Well  met  again,'  he  cried,  his  face  beaming.  '  This  is 
the  sort  of  thing  to  cheer  a  man  up  after  hospital — 
what  ?  '  He  pointed  to  the  groups  of  prisoners,  that 
stood  silent  and  helpless,  surrounded  by  bayonets  on  all 
sides.  '  Nothing  very  glorious,  perhaps,  but  it  does 
cheer  one  up  to  come  out  on  top  now  and  again.' 

'That 's  just  what  I  say,'  put  in  the  withered  mannikin. 
'  Helps  you  to  keep  going.  I  'm  not  as  young  as  I  used 
to  be,  but  a  little  affair  like  this  does  freshen  me  up.' 

The  Mayor  of  the  place  came  up  with  an  obsequious 
smile,  and  the  inhabitants  began  to  approach  timorously, 
and  smiling  a  trifle  anxiously  at  the  victors.  The  staff 
company,  which  had  held  out  pluckily  against  superior 
numbers  until  the  reinforcements  had  arrived,  took  over 
the  prisoners.  And  the  moon  peeped  out  from  a  bank 
of  cloud,  and  looked  down  patronisingly  on  the  little 
midnight  scene. 

But  Kraft  stared  up  with  ardent  eyes  at  the  polished 
observer  of  men's  weal  and  woe,  charmer  and  match- 
maker from  time  immemorial.  '  Yes,  you  can  look,' 
he  cried  gaily.  '  We  '11  show  you  something  else  before 
very  long — you  wait ! ' 

'  Do  you  often  make  prophecies  to  the  moon  ? ' 
asked  Zillner  with  a  smile. 

'  Prophecies  ?  It 's  a  dead  certainty,  gentlemen. 
We  got  the  news  yesterday — the  Germans  are  coming. 
A  whole  army  of  them,  already  on  the  way.  We  shall 
push  forward  then  in  style,  and  oh — you  '11  see.  Life 
will  be  worth  living  again  now  1 ' 

'  Do  you  really  think  we  can  muster  up  a  new  offensive? 
I  'm  very  much  afraid  this  last  winter 's  pulled  us  down 
too  much.  The  men  aren't  what  they  used  to  be,'  said 
Zilhier. 

'  Aren't   they  ?    You   should   have   seen   them   this 


262  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

evening,  as  we  started  out.  And  they  'd  no  idea  then 
it  was  going  to  be  a  walk  over.  No,  we  're  sound  enough, 
only  give  us  the  proper  leaders.  Once  the  Germans 
begin  to  tackle  the  business,  you  '11  see,  the  slowest  will 
pick  up  like  anything.  And  as  for  the  miserable  Slavs, 
and  Slovaks,  and  the  rest  of  the  cowardly  mob,  they  '11 
find  it  doesn't  pay  to  run  the  wrong  way  now.  The 
Germans  will  cure  them  of  that.  And  we  German- 
Austrians,  we  've  got  to  show  that  we  're  as  good  as  the 
Germans  themselves,  though  they  do  look  down  on  us 
at  times.  Yes,  I  know  they  think  we  're  just  an 
effeminate  lot,  with  no  nationality,  good  for  nothing 
but  cookery  and  operettes.  .  .  .' 

'  Why,  brother,  they  can't  say  that  now,  after  eight 
months  of  war,'  put  in  Crlenjak. 

'  Maybe.  But  after  all,  we  haven't  done  anything 
much  really  in  those  eight  months.  We  've  had 
dreadful  losses,  both  here  and  in  Serbia — ^and  with  an 
army  like  ours,  composed  of  different  elements,  and 
wretchedly  led,  it 's  been  hardest  of  all  on  us  Germans. 
We  've  been  cut  to  pieces  again  and  again,  because 
they  had  to  draw  on  us  every  time  something  went 
wrong  with  the  others.  But  that 's  over  now.  The 
Germans  are  coming  down  like  an  avalanche,  and  they  '11 
carry  us  on  with  them.' 

'  But  this  winter  in  the  mountains,  brother — ^we 
could  never  have  stood  that  if  we  hadn't  been  strong 
in  ourselves.  I  don't  understand.  .  .  .'  The  little 
Captain  shook  his  head  perplexedly. 

'  Of  course — I  don't  deny  it.  It  was  a  fine  example 
of  desperate  endurance,  but  passive,  passive!  We're 
just  rooted  to  the  spot.  And  we  've  no  proper  cohesion, 
or  faith,  to  go  on  with.  All  that  we  've  done  here  has 
been  in  self-defence,  and  we  shall  never  make  any  real 
progress  till  the  good  old  double  eagle  spreads  its  wings 
a  bit.  No,  once  the  Germans  come,  you  '11  see !  There  '11 
be  some  proper  flying  then.' 

'  But  our  leaders  will  be  the  same,  I  suppose  ?  '  put 
in  Zillner  bitterly.     *  The  same  old  troupe — masters  in 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  268 

the  art  of  zigzag  movement,  doing  wonders  that  don't 
come  off  with  forces  that  they  try  to  pretend  are  in- 
exhaustible.' 

*  We  shall  keep  them,  of  course.  But  it  won't  matter 
so  much  now.  They  '11  have  to  submit  to  the  guidance 
of  clearer  heads — there 's  no  way  out  of  it.  And  it  '11 
do  them  any  amount  of  good.  Thank  Heaven  it 's 
come  at  last — Germany,  whole  and  strong  1 ' 

Zillner  admired  the  truly  Austrian  enthusiasm  with 
which  Karl  Albert  gave  himself  up  to  splendid  anticipa- 
tions ;  he  envied  him  his  undivided  confidence  and  force. 
Crlenjak  looked  at  it  differently.  He  did  not  at  all 
approve  of  this  incense  on  the  altar  of  Germany  which 
rose  from  the  flame  of  Karl  Albert's  words.  '  Well,  I 
don't  know,'  he  murmured,  '  if  they  help  us,  we  're 
helping  them  all  the  time.  They  can't  manage  alone, 
it  seems,  any  more  than  we.  It 's  simple  enough.  I 
don't  see  why  we  should  look  upon  ourselves  as  their 
servants,  and  we  've  been  doing  good  work  of  our  own 
without  them.' 

'  But  it 's  not  enough,  my  dear  Jovo,  it 's  not  enough  ! 
If  we  're  to  .  .  .' 

'  I  don't  care.  It 's  our  own,'  said  the  little  Captain 
angrily.  '  BastaT  And  he  strode  off  to  his  com- 
pany. 

Zillner  hurried  to  Division  Headquarters  to  give  in 
his  report  of  the  night's  work.  The  schoolhouse,  where 
the  headquarters  had  been  situated,  was  silent  as  a 
palace  of  a  sleeping  beauty.  The  black-and-yellow  flag 
drooped  over  the  entrance,  and  a  couple  of  trembling 
clerks  cowered  in  the  offices.  A  corporal  sat  at  the 
telephone — the  only  man  who  had  stayed  at  his  post 
— with  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  The  Division  had  rung 
up  three  times  to  hear  how  things  were  going.  Zillner 
went  to  the  apparatus,  and  stated  briefly  the  result  of 
the  engagement.  From  the  other  end  came  something 
like  a  sigh  of  relief. 

'  Is  that  you,  Wiirkner  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  Oh,  thank  goodness,  yes  1    His  Excellency  's  been 


264  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

fearfully  impatient.  Wait  a  minute,  here  's  Zapperer, 
wants  to  speak.' 

'Hallo,  hallo! — I'm  Zapperer,'  came  the  new  voice. 
'  My  dear  fellow,  did  you  see  about  the  papers  ?  Are 
they  there  ?     What  ?  ' 

Zillner  was  able  to  assure  him  that  the  precious 
documents  were  untouched.  He  had  seen  them 
himself.     '  Everything  as  you  left  it,'  he  said. 

'  Oh,  very  good — er — thanks.'  The  voice  had  sud- 
denly taken  a  less  ingratiating  tone.  And  the  speaker 
rang  off  abruptly. 

The  Tiefenbachers  tramped  off  homewards.  Outside 
the  hospital  building  a  doctor  stood  waiting.  He  did 
not  wave  a  Red  Cross  flag  this  time,  but  stepped  up  with 
a.  certain  dignity  of  manner  to  Zillner  and  announced 
himself  as  '  Dr.  Podlopny,  of  the  Medical  Staff.  May  I 
beg  you  to  inform  his  Excellency  that  the  field  hospital 
under  my  command,  albeit  severely  threatened,  remained 
at  its  post,  without  a  moment's  thought  of  evacuating, 
and  remained  throughout  attentive  to  the  call  of  duty, 
the  entire  staff  carrying  on  its  work  under  my  direction 
with  the  utmost  coolness,  despite  the  fighting  close  at 
hand.'  Zillner  promised  to  do  so,  and  the  doctor  strode 
back,  head  in  air,  into  the  house. 

The  Lieutenant  looked  after  him  quizzically.  '  That 's 
one- of  your  heroic  sort,'  he  said.  '  And  doesn't  mean 
you  to  forget  it.' 

Zillner  laughed.  '  Yes — ^had  his  little  speech  off  by 
heart,  exactly  in  the  style  of  the  official  notification 
when  he  gets  the  bit  of  ribbon  he  's  playing  up  for. 
What  a  picture  !  First  one  of  them  comes  out  waving 
his  little  banner  and  in  mortal  dread  of  it 's  not  being 
seen,  and  then,  when  it 's  all  over,  the  other  one  sees 
his  chance  and  hastens  to  improve  the  occasion.  Tragi- 
comic, isn't  it  I  What  a  miserable  race  of  swindlers  men 
are,  changing  their  face  to  suit  the  need  of  the  moment. 
Noisy,  screaming  charlatans,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest,  pushing  and  struggling  and  gesticulating — a 
world   full  of  mountebanks   and   fools,   and  conceit — 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  265 

and  yet  each  one  of  them  with  a  star  of  some  sort  to 
lead  them  on  through  filth  and  lies  and  darkness  by  some 
zigzag  path  to  freedom.  To  the  holy  light  on  new, 
broad  roads  .  .  .' 

'  Beautiful,  beautiful,'  murmured  Lewit  admir- 
ingly. 

There  was  a  cheerful  buzz  of  talk  in  the  ranks  as  the 
men  marched  on  ;  but  little  Captain  Crlenjak  scowled 
as  he  strode  through  the  mire.  A  little  way  out  from 
the  village  he  turned  to  Zillner  :  '  I  say,  I  can't  make 
it  out — you  and  that  fellow,  the  Lieutenant,  what 's  his 
name  ?  All  that  nonsense  about  the  Germans,  and  you 
agreed  with  him  !  They  are  to  come  and  take  us  by  the 
ear  and  lead  us  around  just  as  they  like — is  that  anything 
to  be  thankful  for  ?  I  don't  understand.  .  .  .  After  all, 
we  're  not  children,  you  know.  And  the  double  eagle 
can  surely  fly  without  German  fireworks  under  his  tail. 
I  don't  see  any  sense  in  running  down  your  own  country  ; 
I  don't  like  it.' 

'  I  don't  run  down  my  own  country,'  said  Zillner 
gently,  '  but  you  can't  blame  Kraft  for  admiring  those 
qualities  in  the  Germans  which  we  lack  ourselves.  After 
all,  he  's  a  German  himself.  .  .  .' 

'  He 's  not  I '  shouted  the  little  man  excitedly. 
*  He  's  an  Austrian — or  should  be !  He  was  bom  in 
Austria,  his  parents  and  his  ancestors  lived  there.  And 
he  lives  there  too — Austria  is  his  home,  his  country.  .  .  . 
What  has  he  to  do  with  Germany  ?  ' 

'  Lives  there,  yes,'  murmured  Zillner.  '  But  his  home, 
his  country.  .  .  .  You  see  he  's  an  artist,  a  forceful 
nature,  a  man  of  warm  temperament,  who  takes  life 
seriously  and  thoroughly.  How  could  he  ever  feel 
himself  as  one  of  a  nation  that  is  not  a  nation,  but  an 
incoherent  assembly  of  different  peoples,  with  no  common 
spirit  beyond  a  common  dullness,  a  disconsolate  pre- 
occupation with  mean  and  trifling  things  ?  In  Germany, 
he  feels  how  his  race  has  grown  great  and  powerful, 
drawing  its  strength  from  the  German  soil.     Here,  it 


266  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

is  but  a  sickly  growth,  choked  by  all  manner  of  under- 
growth that  has  been  suffered  to  shoot  up  round  it. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  the  German  should  look  to 
Germany  as  his  home.' 

'  But  what  about  me,  brother  ?  I  am  a  Croat — ^yet  I 
love  Austria  as  my  country.  My  people  have  lived 
here,  and  many  of  them  have  shed  their  blood  for  its 
sake;  we  have  not  needed  Prussian  aid  to  make  us 
happy.' 

'  We  need  them  now,  because  our  existence  is  at  stake, 
and  we  should  be  thankful  if  they  can  save  us  from  the 
peril  which  our  fools  of  diplomats  have  brought  upon  us 
by  their  work.  It  has  been  gathering  for  years.  And 
now  it  has  come.' 

'  Fools  of  diplomats  .  .  .  what  have  they  ...  I 
don't  understand.  .  .  .' 

*  Neither  did  they,  and  that  is  how  they  landed  us 
in  the  mess.  Now  the  whole  world  turns  on  us,  calling 
us  to  account  for  their  criminal  follies — and  we  must 
look  to  Germany  to  help  us  out.' 

'  Well,  and  aren't  we  helping  Germany  too  ?  The 
German  diplomats  are  just  as  big  fools  as  ours.  It 
makes  us  quits,  that 's  all.' 

'  Not  altogether.  Our  fools  were  bigger  fools,  and 
there  were  more  of  them,  and  that  made  the  whole 
business  more  complicated.  If  the  Germans  help  us 
now,  the  balance  is  in  their  favour.' 

'  That  is  to  say  you  agree  with  the  other  man — ^what  's 
his  name.     Well,  I  don't  understand.  .  .  .' 

'  I  don't  look  at  things  in  the  same  way  quite.  He  's 
always  rather  enthusiastic,  you  know.  I  'm  no  fervent 
admirer  of  Germany  myself,  and  the  Prussian  type  is 
too  self-assertive,  too  boastful  and  conceited,  for  my 
taste.  I  've  no  sympathy  with  a  race  that  goes  about 
glorifying  itself  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others,  and  wants 
to  be  master  of  the  world  by  fair  means  or  foul.  But 
the  forceful  energy  of  the  German  people,  and  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  organised  and  applied — one  can't 
help  admiring  that.' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  267 

The  little  Captain  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  made 
no  answer. 

Far  ahead  on  the  road  two  little  points  of  light 
appeared,  coming  rapidly  nearer.  Then  came  a  peremp- 
tory hoot  from  a  motor  horn,  and  the  car  with  the 
Divisional  Staff  rushed  down  on  them  at  a  furious  pace, 
the  column  opening  right  and  left  to  let  it  pass.  The 
medical  officer  and  the  head  of  the  supplies  stood  like 
pillars,  one  on  either  side.  The  wheels  sent  up  a  shower 
of  liquid  mud,  spattering  it  fairly  and  abundantly  over 
the  ranks  on  either  hand.  Leaning  back  in  the  car  sat 
his  Excellency  himself,  with  two  fingers  carelessly 
touching  his  cap  in  acknowledgment,  every  inch  of  him 
a  monarch  restored  to  his  own. 

The  men  brushed  the  mud  from  their  clothes  and 
faces,  gazed  for  a  moment  in  naive  admiration  after 
the  wonderful  thing  of  speed  as  it  vanished  down  the 
road.  Then,  facing  about  once  more,  they  trudged 
happily  on  to  their  quarters. 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  Germans  are  coming  !  The  news  ran  like  wildfire 
along  the  line,  leaping  from  point  to  point  and  licking 
its  way  down  the  trenches.  It  came  like  a  blare  of 
trumpets  to  the  men  on  the  fighting  front,  as  they  sat 
huddled  up  in  their  dug-outs,  holding  this  little  section 
or  that  against  the  enemy  with  the  silent  obstinacy  of 
despair.  It  rang  like  a  shout  of  triumph  in  the  ears  of 
those  who  had  still  some  energy  and  will-power  left ; 
and  loosed  the  accumulated  fury  of  the  winter  months. 
And  it  cracked  like  the  lash  of  a  whip  over  the  heads 
of  the  fainthearted,  whose  brain  and  nerve  had  dwindled 
and  shrunk.     The  Germans  are  coming !  .  .  . 

Here,  in  the  Waldgebirge,  the  united  force  of  the 
Austrian  people  rose  up  once  more.  Once  more  the 
thousands  of  mud -bespattered  men,  sunk  almost  to  the 
level  of  the  beast,  began  to  realise  that  a  miserable  death 
in  the  trenches  is  not  the  only  fate  before  them.  The 
white  clouds  sailing  towards  the  north  shone  like 
bright  banners.  The  cry  of  the  titmouse,  the  twittering 
of  finches,  the  hammering  of  woodpeckers  in  the  newly 
verdant  woods,  the  carolling  of  the  lark  in  the  mellow 
air,  all  rang  with  a  glad  note  of  confidence  and  hope. 
The  finger  of  spring  pointed  out  over  the  trampled, 
harried  land  that  lay  spread  out  in  front  of  the  forests, 
and  cried  :  '  On,  and  win  it  back  again.'  And  at  the  rear, 
where  the  staff  sat  worrying  themselves  to  death  in  a 
mesh  of  varied  embarrassments — ever  since  the  fall  of 
the  great  fortress,  the  enemy  had  thrown  wave  after 
wave  of  men  in  floods  against  the  wall  of  the  defence 
where  the  staffs  sat  pondering  and  calculating,  draw- 
ing circles  and  cracking  the  whip  of  command  at 
hazard — ^there,  too,  the  news  waked  a  light  in  eyes 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  269 

dulled  with  thought,  and  the  furrowed  brows  looked 
up  in  relief.  The  word  swept  like  a  storm  through 
their  bundles  of  papers — the  Germans  are  coming  I 

And  meanwhile,  the  close,  heavy  columns  are  already 
tramping  through  the  land,  pushing  on  over  the  roads 
towards  the  mountains,  occupying  villages,  and  rolling 
themselves  up  like  hedgehogs  with  spines  thrusting  all 
ways  at  once.  And  a  thunder  of  work  goes  with  them. 
Orders  are  flung  out ;  clear,  sharp,  decisive.  All  the 
country  is  alive  and  busy  as  an  ant-heap  in  restless 
activity ;  obstinate,  imperturbable  and  sure.  The  land- 
scape now  is  stern  and  firmly  set ;  there  is  no  longer 
that  soft,  deathly  melancholy,  no  vagueness,  no  weak 
indecision.  No  !  The  countryside  wears  a  casque  of 
steel,  heavier  than  it  had  ever  boriie  before ;  and 
breastplate  and  greaves  and  links  to  hold  that  armour 
firmly  in  place.  The  swarming  ants  make  roads  where 
no  roads  were — roads  hard  and  smooth,  leading  up  to  the 
mountain  heights,  and  along  them  creep  the  colossal 
guns,  drawn  by  huge  beasts.  Guns,  and  ever  more 
guns,  day  and  night.  They  sink  into  the  earth — they 
are  bigger  and  more  numerous  than  before.  Behind 
the  green  veil  of  the  woods,  axes  are  at  work,  and  pick 
and  spade,  and  soon  the  monsters  are  in  place,  ready 
and  waiting. 

And  the  great  yellow  birds  fly  abroad  to  spy  out 
the  land.  Fives  and  tens,  whole  flocks  of  them,  with  a 
hum  and  whir  that  resounds  all  (  ver  the  Waldgebirge. 
Beyond,  they  dive  deep  into  the  blue  of  the  sky,  and 
presently  return,  laden  with  clear,  concise  information 
of  the  enemy's  dispositions,  all  to  be  stored  for  use  in  the 
cold  prudent  brains  that  direct  the  operations  from 
the  rear.  The  knowledge  gathered  grows  to  power,  and 
gives  birth  to  definite  commands.  No  more  groping 
and  vague  guesswork,  no  more  hints  as  to  the  possibility 
of  attacking  to-morrow,  but  knowledge,  decision,  and 
action. 

The  quondam  Brigadier  does  not  altogether  like  the 
new   state   of  things ;   the  atmosphere  does  not  suit 


270  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

him.  This  hurricane  from  the  north  is  threatening 
to  upset  him,  and  whirl  him  off  into  all  the  varied  perils 
of  a  swift  advance.  The  methodical  holding  on,  in 
which  he  had  excelled,  is  no  longer  sufficient,  it  seems. 
A  pity ! 

No,  the  new  order  does  not  suit  him.  He  sits  sorrow- 
fully regarding  his  microphones,  and  wondering  where  it 
will  end.  Then  one  night  a  sudden  lightning  flashes 
down  over  the  Waldgebirge,  runs  along  the  trenches, 
flickers  above  the  batteries.  Attack !  And  in  the 
morning  a  roar  goes  up  from  the  world  about. 

The  air  is  filled  with  a  furious  howling  and  shrieking, 
such  as  had  never  before  been  heard  on  earth.  The 
forests  stand  as  if  turned  to  stone  under  a  ceaseless 
wailing  and  thundering — the  heavy  guns  are  preparing 
the  way  for  the  new  offensive.  And  over  there  on  the 
other  side,  where  the  enemy  sits  in  his  huge  defences, 
there  is  a  bursting  of  shells,  a  crashing  and  rending  and 
shivering.  .  .  .  On  every  side  high  columns  of  black 
dust  are  flung  up  from  the  ground  ;  whole  ranks  of 
men  whirling  and  dancing.  And  as  they  collapse,  lo, 
already  others  have  sprung  up  from  where  they  came ! 
Corrosive  vapours  drift  along,  clinging  to  breastwork 
and  trench,  and  the  stoical  peasants,  the  sons  of  mighty 
Russia,  die  they  know  not  how !  .  .  .  The  Germans 
have  come ! 

Major  Blagorski  was  just  reading  out  to  the  assembled 
company  commanders  three  new  and  strictly  confiden- 
tial orders  from  the  Division  command,  and  purposed 
thereafter  to  supplement  them  with  explanations 
furnished  by  the  Colonel  according  to  his  own  lights. 
The  Major  had  already  settled  his  glasses  on  his  nose, 
and  commenced  to  dilate  upon  the  particular  views  held 
by  the  Colonel  regarding  Point  I.  in  the  special  direction 
for  fighting  in  wooded  country.  '  The  Colonel,  gentle- 
men, wishes  particularly  to  point  out,  in  the  first  place, 
that  the  different  detachments  must  throughout  keep 
in  close  touch  one  with  another.    The  strictest  pre- 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  271 

cautions  .  .  .'  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  '  Come 
in,  man,  come  in,'  said  the  Major  impatiently. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  gigantic  figure  seemed  to 
grow  up  in  the  room.  The  figure  hesitated  a  moment, 
uncovered  a  close-cropped  head,  and  steered  directly 
for  the  Major  himself.  Then  it  clicked  its  heels  together 
and  stood  motionless,  and  far  up  in  the  air,  from  under  a 
toothbrush  of  a  moustache,  came  a  snarl :  *  Captain  von 
Schmellenthin,  of  the  334th  Royal  Prussian  Infantry, 
has  the  honour  to  report  his  arrival  in  cantonments 
with  a  battalion.' 

'  Very  pleased  to  meet  you,  comrade,'  said  the  Major. 
'  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  '  He  drew  out  a  chair,  and  laid 
his  glasses  and  the  papers  aside. 

The  imposing  figure  clicked  its  heels  together  sharply 
once  more,  and  made  a  slight  inclination  of  the  upper 
part  of  the  body  towards  Crlenjak,  Grill,  and  Zillner. 
'  Von  Schmellenthin  ! '     Then  he  sat  down. 

The  Major  pulled  out  his  cigarette  case  and  offered 
it.     '  Will  you  smoke  ?  ' 

'  Many  thanks,'  said  the  Prussian,  and  clicked  his 
heels. 

Grill  inquired  politely  where  their  new  comrade  had 
been  serving  hitherto. 

'  In  France.  They  've  sent  us  over  now  to  clear  up 
some  of  the  muddle  on  this  side,'  said  the  giant  airily. 

The  Major  cleared  his  throat.  '  Pardon  me.  Captain, 
there  is  no  muddle  on  this  side.  The  position  here  is 
difficult,  very  difficult.  We  have  held  out  all  through 
the  winter — more  than  three  months.' 

The  giant  bowed  slightly  as  if  accepting  the  amend- 
ment. '  Yes,  yes,  of  course,'  he  murmured,  and,  leaning 
back,  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  toward  the  ceiling.  '  But 
we  must  push  on  now,  and  go  for  them  thoroughly. 
The  new  offensive  .  .  .' 

Crlenjak  filled  a  small  glass  from  a  bottle  on  the 
table.  '  The  local  poison,  comrade,  if  you  'd  care  to 
try  it.' 

The  Prussian  lifted  the  glass  on  high  and  emptied 


272  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

it  at  a  draught.  '  All  helps  the  circulation.  Thanks.' 
He  clicked  his  heels  together  again.  '  The  offensive, 
I  was  about  to  say,  will  be  carried  out  in  earnest  this 
time.  First  pulverise  them  small  with  shells,  and  then 
go  in  and  settle  them  out  of  hand.' 

Grill  looked  at  the  newcomer  curiously.  *  Our  men 
are  rather  done  up,'  he  said.  '  I  'm  afraid  there  's  not 
much  kick  in  them  now.' 

'  Really  ?  My  fellows  are  like  children  ;  like  simple 
little  children,  I  assure  you.  I  only  have  to  say : 
"  Now  then,  lads,  at  them  and;  give  it  them  hot " — 
and  they  '11  go  anywhere.' 

'  Sounds  very  nice,'  said  Grill.  '  Theoretically,  of 
course,  it 's  what  they  ought  to  do.  But  when  men 
are  worn  out,  how  are  you  going  to  get  them  to  do  it  ?  ' 

'  It  doesn't  much  matter  how  it 's  done — as  long  as 
it 's  done.  We  know  what  they  've  got  to  do,  and  it 's 
our  business  to  see  that  they  do  it.  This  time  there 
must  be  no  mistake.' 

Grill  filled  the  glasses  again,  and  lifted  his  own. 
'  Allow  me,  sir,'  he  said  politely,  '  to  express  my 
satisfaction  at  being  called  upon  to  fight  side  by  side 
with  your  countrymen.' 

The  Prussian  bowed.  '  Very  kind  of  you,  I  'm  sure.' 
Then  lifting  his  glass,  and  showing  his  white  teeth  under 
the  toothbrush  moustache,  he  cried  :  '  Here  's  to  the 
coming  victory  !  To  brave  hearts  and  good  comrade- 
ship.    Major,  your  servant !  ' 

The  Major  blinked  in  some  embarrassment,  trying  hard 
to  appear  cordial.  '  We  're  all  very  happy,  I  'm  sure, 
to — er — shoulder  to  shoulder.  .  .  .' 

'  And  victory  to  victory — if  God  wills  it  so — and  He 
will ! '  said  the  giant  decisively. 

'  Let  us  hope  so,'  said  the  Major,  who  did  not  seem 
so  certain  of  the  Almighty's  intentions. 

'  Donnerwetter  ja ! '  The  big  man  rose  to  his  feet 
with  a  sudden  movement.  '  An  excellent  liqueur  that 
— ^thanks  very  much.  And  now.  Major,  if  you  will 
excuse  me,  I  had  better  get  along  and  see  how  my  fellows 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  27d 

are  doing  in  their  new  quarters.  Auf  Wiedersehen  !  ' 
He  shook  hands,  and  then,  with  a  jerk  of  the  body,  a 
cHck  of  the  heels,  the  visitor  from  the  north  strode  off, 
a  tall,  upright,  heavy  figure,  too  big  for  the  little  low 
room. 

The  withered  mannikin  looked  after  the  retreating 
giant  with  a  frown.  *  H'm — a  Prussian.  Not  a  com- 
panionable sort,  and  talks  too  much.  ...  I  don't 
know  .  .  .' 

'  He 's  not  an  attractive  type,'  said  the  Major. 
'  Thinks  a  little  too  much  of  himself,  perhaps.' 

Zillner  said  nothing.  His  thoughts  were  far  away 
from  the  war  and  his  surroundings,  busied  with  the 
memory  of  a  girl. 

But  Grill,  who  was  cold  and  calculating  as  a  rule, 
and  very  careful  of  what  he  said  to  a  superior,  broke  in 
warmly  :  '  Why,  sir,  as  for  being  attractive — men  of 
forceful  character  rarely  are.  The  voice  of  Germany 
speaks  through  this  one  man,  as  through  every  one  of 
his  countrymen.  He  would  not  be  a  Prussian  if  he 
spoke  otherwise.  They  are  born  conquerors ;  able, 
unscrupulous,  accustomed  to  trample  down  all  resistance. 
They  cannot  be  attractive  to  others  ;  it  would  be  un- 
natural if  they  were.  We  have  adopted  a  friendly 
tone  towards  all  the  world,  and  we  have  done  nothing 
but  lose  ground  for  more  than  half  a  century.  What 
have  we  gained  by  it  at  all  ?  A  pitying,  condescending 
smile,  and  some  compliments  from  the  world  of  fashion 
and  the  theatres.  That 's  all  we  get  by  being  inoffensive. 
Nothing  more.  We  are  a  weak-kneed  lot,  and  they 
are  men.  I  might  be  the  same  if  I  could  be  born 
again  among  them.  No,  any  one  who  likes  can  be 
attractive — I  'd  rather  be  strong.  You  're  not  offended, 
sir?' 

The  Major  waved  his  hand.  '  Not  at  all,  not  at  all. 
What  you  say  's  perfectly  right.  But  I  certainly  think 
they  are  a  little — what  shall  I  say — a  little  too  harsh 
in  their  manner.     Yes,  harsh.  .  .  .' 

To  Zillner' s  surprise,  Grill  contradicted  once  more, 

s 


274  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  For  us  Southerners,  yes,  perhaps.  But  they  are 
so  astonishingly  capable  that  we  must  forgive  them 
their  roughness  of  manner.  And  then,  as  a  nation — 
not  only  the  people  themselves  are  capable,  but  their 
leaders — that  is  the  most  impressive  thing  of  all.  From 
the  lowest  to  the  highest.' 

'  What  about  their  diplomatists  ?  '  put  in  Zillner. 

*  Well,  in  their  preparations  for  this  war,  they  certainly 
showed  themselves  a  poor  lot — almost  as  poor  as  our 
own.  But  Germany  will  get  over  that.  Whereas 
we  .  ,  .' 

'  We  will  get  back  to  business,'  said  the  Major  in  an 
altered  voice.  '  Note  what  I  say  attentively,  gentlemen, 
please.  We  never  know  how  soon  the  occasion  may 
arise.  With  regard  to  fighting  in  wooded  country,  the 
Colonel  further  points  out  .  .  .' 

The  Major  had  the  satisfaction  of  having,  by  his 
tactful  intervention,  crushed  any  possibly  unpleasant 
discussion  as  to  the  respective  merits  of  the  two  nations 
in  the  bud. 

The  artillery  duel  had  lasted  three  days  and  nights. 
The  Russians  were  to  be  hammered  thoroughly  before 
the  bayonets  were  sent  in  to  finish  them  off.  Ruthlessly, 
systematically,  the  guns  thundered  ;  death  was  hard 
pressed  to  gather  in  the  enormous  harvest.  And  the 
great  Butcher,  with  his  best  blue  apron  on,  smiled 
calmly  down  over  the  shell-torn  ground. 

The  masses  of  infantry  lay  pressed  close  in  to  the 
breastworks  of  the  trenches  ;  the  men  stared  up  at  the 
sky,  judging  from  the  noise  what  was  coming — perhaps 
a  common  shell,  or  perhaps  one  of  the  heavier  beasts 
that  flew  with  a  duller  note,  or  one  of  the  very  biggest, 
that  hummed  like  a  great  bee,  with  a  deep  bass,  the 
terrible  giant  bombs  that  seemed  as  if  they  must 
pierce  to  the  centre  of  the  earth. 

The  men  munched  their  bread  and  smoked,  and  died 
like  cattle,  with  a  dull  grunt,  when  a  direct  hit  smashed 
their  defences  to  atoms.     Many  there  were,  too,  who 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  275 

staggered  back  to  the  rear,  or  were  carried  off  to  the 
dressing  stations  in  the  villages,  dreadfully  mutilated, 
groaning,  bleeding,  and  grey  with  pain  and  dirt.  Often 
one  might  see  men  on  carts,  or  hobbling  down  on  foot 
from  the  hills,  to  all  appearance  unhurt,  but  with  eyes 
dulled,  like  blind  mirrors.  They  seemed  unconscious 
of  all  around  them,  and,  if  questioned,  made  no  answer 
beyond  a  sullen  stare — deaf  and  dumb,  witless,  paralysed 
with  terror,  mowed  down  by  the  shock  of  the  bursting 
shells ! 

The  Tiefenbachers  were  fairly  comfortably  off  during 
those  days,  being  in  reserve.  They  could  sit  huddled 
up  deep  down  in  the  second  line  trenches,  and  it  was  but 
rarely  that  the  high  columns  of  earth  sprang  up  where 
they  were.  Zillner's  company  even  went  to  a  funeral 
one  day,  almost  as  if  it  had  been  peace  time — save  that 
there  were  fifty  corpses  to  be  carried  to  one  common 
grave.  Fifty  men  who  had  died  of  wounds,  at  the 
dressing  station,  and  were  now  packed  away  in  tiers, 
five  deep.  .  .  .  The  uppermost  row  lay  with  upturned 
faces  staring  uncomprehensively  at  the  gestures  of  a 
red -bearded  Capuchin  pater  above  the  grave,  until 
suddenly — surely  a  scornful  smile  flickered  over  their 
yellow  faces  ? — a  shell  came  rushing  over  towards  the 
battery  close  by.  A  whistling  and  whining  in  the 
air.  *  Bequiescant  in  pa-ha  .  .  .'  The  priest  came  to 
a  stop.  Thank  heaven ! — the  shell  had  passed  over. 
And  he  began  again  :  '  Requiescant  in  pa-ha-ha-ce.^  .  .  . 
Then  earth  on  the  scornful  faces,  one  more  trembling 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  then  back,  as  quickly  as  possible 
to  the  Division  Headquarters,  where  there  were  no 
shells. 

'  I  'm  sick  and  tired  of  this  miserable  foolery,'  said 
Zillner  to  his  subaltern,  as  they  walked  back.  *  Why 
can't  they  just  bury  the  poor  fellows  with  a  few  green 
twigs  or  a  handful  of  flowers  on  the  grave.  Of  all  the 
disgusting  scenes  one  has  to  see  these  days,  I  do  think 
that  figure  of  the  priest  with  his  fire  and  brimstone  is  the 
worst.' 


S76  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

^  Lewit  waved  one  hand  deprecatingly.  *  It 's  the 
custom,'  he  said.  '  Can  hardly  get  away  from  it.  Sort 
of — ^what  shall  I  say — settlement.  Most  people  wouldn't 
like  to  see  it  done  away  with.' 

'  Ah,  most  people,'  cried  Zillner.  '  Most  people.  .  .  . 
No,  let  us  gather  buds  and  flowers,  little  kindly  flowers, 
to  lay  on  the  eyes  and  foreheads  of  the  dead.  It  would 
be  a  better  thing  than  the  hollow  alien  patter  of  a 
churchman.  And  we  should  think  of  them,  find  room 
in  our  heart  for  each  one,  and  make  a  vow  ;  not  to  forget 
them,  the  nameless  ones,  the  victims  of  a  bestial  time, 
but  to  teach  those  who  come  after  us  never  again  to 
suffer  their  fellows  to  be  slaughtered  like  beasts.  Ay, 
till  they  wake  and  shout  in  the  ears  of  the  leaders  and 
rulers,  "We  are  human  beings,  and  not  cattle  to  be 
slaughtered.  Woe  to  you  if  you  will  not  heed."  Yes — 
that  should  be  their  requiem.' 

Lewit  glanced  sideways  at  him,  and '  noted  with 
astonishment  that  his  captain  appeared  altogether 
lacking  in  military  ideals.  But  it  is  the  business 
of  a  draper  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  people 
without  regard  to  what  he  may  think  privately. 
And  he  merely  said  :  '  Yes,  it  is  sad  that  so  many 
should  die  in  vain !  Makes  one  feel  dismal  to  think 
of  it.' 

Zillner  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
sunset,  and  his  thoughts  wandered  in  a  red  emptiness 
through  the  wide  world. 

And  the  northern  gale  swept  over  the  Waldgebirge, 
cold  and  keen,  a  wind  that  brooked  no  delay — no 
longer  fluttering  out  from  right  and  left  in  fitful  gusts, 
no  longer  dropping  every  now  and  then  to  an  asthmatic 
wheeze.  It  was  the  northern  gale,  and  it  threw  down 
forests  and  tore  up  the  ground,  till  the  earth  shuddered 
in  fear.  Terror  flew  on  ahead  of  it  like  heavy  showers 
of  hail.  '  General  attack  1 '  sang  the  northern  gale. 
*Make  ready.  They  shall  be  exterminated  in  their 
earths,  the  burrowing  fools  that  still  dare  to  resist. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  277 

They  shall  be  scattered  abroad  like  chaff.  .  .  .  Make 
ready  I ' 

The  men  in  the  first  line  of  trenches  bowed  beneath  its 
breath,  and  gathered  themselves  for  a  mighty  leap. 
And  those  behind  in  reserve  spread  themselves  out  into 
thin  fluttering  ribbons  and  rolled  forward,  lashed  by  its 
fury,  towards  the  slopes  of  the  hills.  Six,  eight  lines, 
one  behind  another,  miles  long,  and  kilometres  deep. 
And  the  northern  gale  caught  up  the  General  Staff  and 
whirled  it  away  on  wings.  The  quondam  Brigadier  and 
the  pseudo-energetics,  with  their  hard  faces  and  their 
little  brains,  the  thoughtless  sacrificers — it  gripped  them 
all,  and  they  could  not  break  away.  And  the  kaiserl. 
und  kcmigh  hailstorms,  which  had  so  often  drizzled 
weakly  down  and  missed  their  aim,  were  gathered  now 
into  a  mighty  cloud  that  swept  over  the  mountains,  to 
help  the  north  wind  crush  and  trample  down  all  that 
stood  in  its^ay.  A  vapour  of  blood  drove  before  it,  with 
vomitings  and  groans.  But  there  was  also  a  rustling 
in  the  treetops.     Thus  it  was  with  the  northern  gale  ! 

'  Gentlemen  ! '  Major  Blagorski  had  assembled  his 
company  commanders  in  front  of  the  trenches,  and  his 
worn,  furrowed  face  was  alight  with  new  youth  and  new 
courage.  '  Gentlemen,  this  time  we  are  to  go  into  action 
in  the  midst  of  our  German  comrades.  I  need  not  say 
more.  We  have  always  stood  our  ground  and  borne 
ourselves  like  brave  men,  all.  .  .  .'  He  swallowed  some- 
thing in  his  throat,  and  his  voice  grew  hoarse.  '  And 
we  will  now,  as  soldiers  of  the  Austrian  army,  win 
for  ourselves  an  honourable  ...  an  honourable  .  .  . 
Gentlemen,  I  need  not  say  more.  .  .  .  Ah,  the  Colonel 
is  beckoning  this  way,  I  think.  Quickly  to  your  posts, 
gentlemen,  if  you  please.' 

'  We  will  I '  cried  little  Captain  Crlenjak.  And  his 
eyes  were  moist  as  he  saluted  and  turned  about. 

The  Major  glanced  uneasily  at  the  Colonel,  who  was 
standing  on  a  mound  close  by,  beckoning  with  a  nervous 
hand.     '  Advance.     Companies   One  and  Two   in  the 


278  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

firing  line,  the  reserve  in  rear  of  the  centre.'  The  old 
man's  soldierly  face  had  once  more  assumed  its  wonted 
expression  of  anxious  and  deferential  humility. 

Forward,  over  the  tiny  field  flowers,  over  ploughland 
and  trampled  grass,  the  first  battalion  of  the  Tiefen- 
bachers  came  at  the  double,  up  into  the  endlessly 
extended  ribbon  of  the  firing  line.  A  grain  of  sand 
among  the  breakers,  nothing  more,  yet  with  a  thousand 
glowing  lives,  a  thousand  beating  hearts.  And  even 
though  the  Major  had  not  finished  his  speech,  even 
though  his  words  had  been  faltering  and  his  voice 
hoarse,  yet  every  man  had  understood.  They  had 
stood  their  ground,  through  frost  and  heat,  in  the 
filthy,  inadequate  shelter  of  the  trenches,  at  the  mercy 
of  criminally  inadequate  leaders ;  and  they  would  do 
the  same  to-day,  under  the  eyes  of  the  haughty 
Prussians. 

Little  Captain  Crlenjak  looked  fiercer  than  usual 
hurrying  along  on  his  thin  legs,  murmuring  to  himself, 
and  snipping  off  flowers  from  their  stalks  with  his  cane  as 
he  went.  Once  he  turned  to  look  back,  and  caught 
sight  of  the  Major  striding  on  likewise.  '  Ah,  yes,'  he 
thought  to  himself,  '  we  old  men.  .  .  .' 

Zillner  had  not  a  single  clear  thought  in  his  head.  He 
walked  as  if  the  force  of  gravity  no  longer  affected  him. 
He  attended  mechanically  to  what  he  had  to  do,  but 
felt  nothing,  and  the  monstrous  orgy  of  self-destruction 
that  was  to  come,  the  gigantic  collision  of  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  human  beings,  seemed  to  melt  away  in  his 
soul. 

Grill  circled  round  his  men  like  a  shepherd  dog, 
snapping  at  them  threateningly  wherever^he  discerned 
a  baser  instinct  not  yet  properly  subdued. 

The  northern  gale  drove  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
German  helmets  and  Austrian  caps  towards  the  Waldge- 
birge.  They  came  to  the  first  line,  and  tore  the  soldiers 
there  from  their  holes,  to  be  swept  forward  with  them 
in  endless  ribbons,  on  and  on  .  .  .  right  up^to"  the 
battered  and  shattered  ruins  of  the  Russian  defences. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  279 

Here  they  were  met  by  a  furious  fire,  in  which  the  first 
lines  disappeared.  The  rest,  bleeding  and  shaken, 
strove  to  push  on.  *  On  I '  cried  the  northern  gale. 
'  There  is  no  other  way  I  *  Column  after  column  was 
dispersed,  but  there  was  no  pause  ;  ever  more  and  more 
came  pouring  out  from  the  dark  woods.  That  hill  there 
— up  and  take  it,  at  any  cost  1 ' 

The  Collaltos  are  being  drained  of  their  blood  on  the 
slopes.  Karl  Albert  Kraft,  sometime  idealist,  is  now 
a  shapeless  mass  of  stuff — struck  directly  by  a  shell. 
He  will  cheer  for  Germany  no  more.  But  what  is  Karl 
Albert  Kraft  ? — what  is  the  whole  regiment  of  the 
Collaltos  ?  A  new  regiment  to  the  front,  to  find  a 
foothold  there  among  the  dead.  And  that,  too,  is 
shattered  to  pieces.  Another,  and  yet  another.  The 
hill  must  be  taken — at  any  cost  I  It  is  the  key  to  a  great 
position — forward,  and  up,  all  that  have  life  in  them  still  I 
Thus  the  gale  rages,  and  the  masses  obey.  Ever  new 
bodies  of  men  are  whirled  forward  up  the  slopes,  spread 
out  and  cover  the  ground,  swarm  up  to  the  top  with 
bayonets  like  a  gleaming  white  foam  in  front.  Heavy, 
redly  breaking  waves.  .  .  .  Then  a  cheer,  the  last  of  the 
barbed -wire  is  down,  and  a  couple  of  hundred  men  out 
of  all  those  hordes  are  chosen  by  blind  chance  to  stand 
on  the  summit  as  victors.  Breathless  they  are,  and 
drunk  with  blood.  And  they  give  thanks  to  the  great 
Butcher,  as  he  wipes  his  knife  on  his  sky-blue  apron. 
Enough  for  to-day  I  Let  them  be  crowned  with 
laurel  I  .  .  . 

Swarms  of  flies  hover  about  the  piled  up  corpses  on 
the  slopes.  Save  for  the  insects,  they  lie  there  un- 
heeded. 

The  whole  country  was  carpeted  with  blood.  Thou- 
sands and  thousands  rolled  over  it.  It  seemed  hard  to 
believe  that  these  moving  masses  had  once  been  human 
beings  with  feeling  hearts.  This  thing  that  pressed  on 
and  on  through  forest  and  swamp  leaped  across  rivers, 
and  rushed  with  fierce  noises  up  the  sides  of  mountains, 


280  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

was  a  horde  of  destructive  organisms,  driven  forward  by 
the  mechanism  of  compulsion  and  necessity.  Thumping 
and  shrieking  locomotives,  hurrying  in  endless  numbers 
along  the  same  line  of  rails,  moving  undeviatingly  forward 
till  the  clockwork  in  them  stopped.  What  was  any 
single  one  of  them  to  the  whole  ?  Ask  the  sea  of  the 
drops  that  evaporate  and  are  lost.  So  they  vanished, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  them,  unthanked,  un- 
noticed. Only  where  they  lay  piled  in  grey  mounds, 
broken  and  torn  to  rags  and  trampled  down,  there  the 
eyes  of  those  who  yet  remained  upright  glanced  at  them 
hurriedly,  without  pity,  and  looked  away. 

The  Russians  fled,  but  only  to  positions  already 
prepared  for  the  event.  And  time  after  time  they 
offered  heroic  resistance.  For  weeks  the  same  scene  was 
repeated — first  a  thorough  artillery  preparation,  then 
massed  charges  of  the  infantry,  that  were  thrown  forward 
like  cattle  to  the  slaughter. 

The  Tiefenbachers  were  reduced  to  a  fraction  of  their 
strength,  as  were  the  best  of  the  Imperial  regiments. 
Landwehr  and  Hungarian  Honveds  dwindled  to  mere 
skeletons.  In  the  brave  Landsturm  regiments,  husbands 
and  fathers  whose  hair  was  tinged  with  grey  joined  in 
the  dance  of  death  with  a  wild  abandon  not  surpassed 
by  the  nineteen-year-old  boys.  The  flower  of  the 
German  army,  the  Guard,  faded  and  drooped.  And 
wherever  any  untimely  desire  to  live  became  apparent, 
as  in  many  of  the  Czech  and  Ruthenian  units,  where  the 
men  cast  longing  glances  toward  the  rear,  the  German 
taskmasters  swooped  down  ruthlessly  :  '  Forward,  you 
dogs  !  '  And  it  was  in  vain  to  struggle  against  the 
power  of  the  northern  gale,  and  even  the  most  unwilling 
were  driven  helplessly  on  before  it.  And  so  it  happened 
that  the  willingness  of  the  masses  to  die  resulted  not 
only  in  the  recapture  of  the  fortress,  which  had  shortly 
before  capitulated  owing  to  a  scandal  about  the  stores 
of  provisions,  but  also  freed  the  capital,  and  drove  the 
enemy  back  across  the  border. 

The    iron-throated    song-birds    of   the    daily   press. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  281 

sitting  far  back  along  the  lines  of  communication, 
evolved  new  superlatives,  and  the  General  Staff  suddenly 
recollected  its  own  importance.  Zapperer  drew  forth 
from  his  store  of  theatrical  properties  the  mask  that  had 
been  so  roughly  handled  the  year  before  :  *  Napoleon  on 
the  march  into  Russia.'  And  it  suited  him  now  very 
well. 

But  over  the  graves  of  the  nameless  ones  strode  the 
figure  of  Fame,  pointing  eloquently  to  the  future. 

The  Tiefenbachers  marched  through  the  desolate 
country,  harassed  and  trampled  now  for  the  fifth  time. 
Once  more  the  flames  rose  high  above  burning  villages, 
but  there  were  not  so  many  now  to  bum.  Only  those 
that  had  by  some  chance  been  spared  hitherto  could 
give  fresh  fuel  now.  It  was  a  melancholy  display  of 
pyrotechnics.  The  greasy  priests,  too,  no  longer  stood 
blinking  cunningly  outside  their  churches — the  buildings 
were  in  ruins,  and  their  ministers  were  gone.  Some 
followed  in  the  train  of  the  Russian  armies,  others  had 
found  a  lodging  in  Austrian  prisons,  or,  as  the  most 
suitable  for  many  of  those  orthodox  traitors,  had  been 
strung  up  under  the  treetops,  with  a  thin  cord  about 
their  unwashed  necks.  And  alas,  no  welcome  greeted 
the  troops  as  they  passed  through  the  villages,  no  out- 
burst of  acclamation  surged  round  the  columns  from 
the  lands  they  had  set  free.  Only  old  men  and  women 
gathered  listlessly  in  their  doorways,  and  uncared-for 
children  scrambled  spider-legged  about  among  the  ruined 
heaps.  Swollen  corpses  of  dead  horses  lay  in  the 
ditches  ...  it  was  the  old  familiar  scene. 

Horrors  had  grown  so  commonplace  that  men  no 
longer  seemed  to  notice  anything.  Even  Zillner  himself 
remained  unmoved.  He  rode  at  the  rear  of  his  com- 
pany, as  it  dragged  on  with  weary  steps,  rendered  un- 
feeling by  sheer  monotony  of  dreadful  things.  The  fnen 
on  the  staffs  in  the  rear  were  rejoicing  over  a  victory ; 
the  people  behind  them  again  lifted  their  heads  once 
more,  and  a  timorous  wave  of  joy  swept  through  the 


282  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

country.    At  last — ^at  last  I    Thanks  to  God  and  the 
Germans  I 

Zillner,  the  victorious,  felt  now  no  voice  within,  no 
impulse  to  resist,  no  solemn  conflict  in  himself.  Only 
when  his  eyes  chanced  to  wander  over  the  shrunken 
little  flock  that  had  been  his  company,  the  ragged  and 
filthy  pariahs  of  war's  renown,  could  he  feel  a  thrill  of 
furious  anger  against  those  who  sat  comfortably  at  a 
distance  weaving  their  laurel  wreaths.  At  such  times 
he  could  think  with  a  wild  pain  of  the  future,  where 
those  who  had  been  but  day-labourers  in  the  service  of 
death  would  be  treated  to  the  words  and  phrases  of 
hero-worship  spoken  by  eminent  liars  above  the  silent 
pits  where  men  lay  heaped  together  in  a  common  burial. 
He  thought  of  the  writers  who  would  celebrate  these 
charges  of  cattle  driven  to  the  slaughter  in  heroic  epics, 
full  of  thrilHng  pathos  and  wordy  splendour  .  .  . 
touching,  edifying,  freed  from  all  coarser  elements, 
and  thus  fulfilling  that  aesthetic  law  which  insists  that 
the  beauty-loving  soul  can  find  no  delight  in  contem- 
plation of  the  vulgar  and  obscene.  The  pleasing  lie 
would  plaster  up  even  these  inordinate  massacres, 
and  ready  eloquence  raise  monuments  to  those  who 
sacrificed  the  blood  of  the  nameless  that  their  own 
names  might  become  immortal.  And  Sarapatka  and 
his  fellows,  the  venal  enthusiasts  of  the  lampshade 
and  the  writing  desk,  would  place  their  talents 
at  the  service  of  infamy,  that  the  offspring  of  the 
masses  might  be  led  on  anew  upon  the  same  murder- 
ous road. 

Zillner  gazed  with  helpless  affection  at  the  lines  of 
stooping-shouldered  men,  whose  bodies  gave  forth  a 
rank  smell  of  sweat  and  foul  linen.  These  simple  folk, 
dumb  and  blind — ^when  would  a  Saviour  arise  to  loose 
their  tongues  and  make  their  eyes  to  see  ?  He  that 
died  upon  the  cross  for  their  sake,  alas.  He  too  had 
become  a  servant  of  the  mighty  ones  of  earth.  He  v/as 
not  the  man.  So  Zillner,  loving  and  respecting  the 
common  people,  was  melancholy  now  despite  the  victory. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  288 

despite  the  northern  gale  that  had  raged  over  the  great 
graveyard. 

Crlenjak,  the  mannikin,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed 
rejuvenated  ;  the  more  he  was  tanned  by  sun  and  wind 
and  rain,  the  more  his  aged  body  was  bowed  under  the 
continuous  exertion,  the  stronger  grew  his  confidence 
and  hope.  '  I  tell  you  what,  brother,  they  're  nearly  at 
their  last  gasp  now.  And  it  wasn't  the  Prussians  alone 
that  did  it — we  were  as  good  as  they,  every  bit.'  He 
said  the  same  thing  every  day,  looking  at  Grill  and 
Zillner  as  if  challenging  them  to  confute  him.  But 
neither  of  them  took  up  the  gauntlet,  and  the  little  man 
triumphed  at  their  silence. 

Early  that  summer  the  columns  crossed  the  Russian 
frontier.  But  Zillner's  fate  decided  that  he  had  had 
enough,  and  bade  him  halt. 

It  happened  late  one  afternoon,  when  the  advance 
came  in  touch  with  the  Russian  rearguard.  A  shrapnel 
was  the  instrument  chosen,  and  it  did  its  work  well, 
shattering  his  right  thigh.  And  he  lay  on  his  back  in 
the  grass  and  saw  his  mother's  face  bending  over  him — 
saw  it  quite  clearly,  as  she  stopped  to  lift  him  up.  And 
he  was  glad.  Then  the  vision  faded,  with  all  else,  into 
a  thin  silvery  mist. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

In  the  shadow}^  days  that  followed,  there  was  but  little 
that  laid  hold  of  Zillner's  mind.  All  things  seemed 
hovering,  floating  and  flowing  out  into  the  infinite. 
Colours  bloomed  out  from  a  grey  mist  .  .  .  sounds  of 
music  very  far  away.  ...  A  veil  hid  all  things  from  his 
sight,  and  he  lay  beneath  it,  listening  unheedingly  to  the 
confusion  of  the  world.  He  had  lost  a  great  deal  of 
blood,  and  felt  a  strange  lightness,  as  if  he  had  no  body 
at  all ;  he  seemed  to  himself  like  the  centre  of  whirling 
circles — the  one  point  at  rest  while  all  else  was  in  a 
flurry  of  motion.  He  was  freed,  protected,  unassailable. 
How  long  had  he  lain  thus  ?^  He  did  not  know  and  did 
not  care. 

Then  a  harsh  voice  came  trampling  into  his  peace. 
He  heard  it  so  distinctly,  it  cut  through  his  protecting 
veil,  and  went  like  a  sharp  knife  to  his  brain.  'The 
leg  must  be  taken  off,  my  dear  sir.  You  may  save 
his  life,  if  you  amputate  at  once.     Even  then  .  .  .' 

Zillner  felt  a  sudden  anger  at  this.  Who  was  this  man 
who  talked  so  carelessly  about  taking  off  his  leg — ^what 
right  had  he  to  give  orders  at  all  ?  He  strove  to  see, 
but  his  eyes  refused.  All  things  were  veiled  .  .  .  veiled 
....  Then  there  was  a  smell ;  sweet,  sickly — ^take  it 
away  !  And  huge  grey  suns  whirling  towards  him.  He 
would  resist — he  would  not  submit  to  this.  But  the 
world  was  shrinking  all  about  him,  dwindling  to  a 
column  of  figures.  And  he  counted  involuntarily,  furious 
all  the  time  with  some  unknown  power  that  forced  him 
to  keep  on  counting  .  .  .  counting.  .  .  One — ^two — ^three 
— ^and  up  to  ten.  Then  a  vast  emptiness  laid  hold  of 
him,  and  he  sank  blissfully  exhausted  into  its  embrace. 

t84 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  285 

Then  lying  in  a  bed,  groping  about  in  a  twilight  full  of 
floating  stars  and  wandering  sounds  .  .  .  and  waking  to 
consciousness  at  last.  His  mouth  was  clogged  with  some- 
thing that  had  a  sickly  taste,  and  u'on  bars  were  crushing 
his  head  ;  they  seemed  to  be  fastened  over  the  brow, 
and  tightened  with  screws  at  the  back  of  his  neck.  He 
sighed,  and  strove  to  open  his  eyes — helpless  again  I 
The  eyelids  had  been  closed,  it  seemed,  with  leaden 
weights.  What  was  the  matter  ?  He  was  not  ill  ? 
He  set  his  teeth  hard,  and  strove  to  wrench  his  eyelids 
apart.     And  then  he  saw. 

A  white  figure  stood  beside  him,  soft  and  tall,  and 
bending  slightly  down.  With  a  gentle  face.  Cool 
hands  glided  over  his  forehead,  and  took  him  carefully 
under  the  shoulders  and  lifted  him  up.  .  .  .  Nausea 
...  a  terrible  fit  of  vomiting  that  shook  his  whole 
frame  .  .  .  then  cool  hands  holding  him  again,  laying 
his  head  gently  back  upon  the  pillow.  He  felt  weak 
now,  but  the  iron  bars  about  his  head  were  gone,  and 
the  veils  had  disappeared.  He  looked  over  to  a  row  of 
beds  on  the  other  side  of  the  room  .  .  .  saw  the  sun- 
light flooding  in  through  the  windows.  .  .  . 

The  nurse  was  still  bending  over  him,  touching  his 
forehead  with  a  wet  cloth.  He  looked  up  at  her  face  ; 
the  homely  features  softened  to  a  smile.'  '  Don't 
worry — it  was  only  the  anaesthetic.  The  worst  is  over 
now.     Lie  still  and  try  to  sleep.' 

He  stammered  helplessly.  '  And  .  .  .  and  I  shall 
soon  be  all  right  again  ?  ' 

'  Soon,  yes,  it  won't  be  very  long,'  she  said  softly. 

He  felt  at  the  coverlet ;  there  was  a  queer  burning 
pain  in  his  right  foot,  at  the  toes.  He  could  not  reach 
so  far,  and  gripped  at  his  knee  to  draw  it  up,  but  the 
bedclothes  gave  under  his  hand,  and  collapsed  into  flat 
folds.     He  felt  about  .  .  .  there  was  nothing  there. 

'  But  what  .  .  .  where  .  .  .'  Hastily  he  felt  his  left 
leg ;  there  it  was,  of  course.'  Then  what.  .  .  .  '  Sister, 
sister,  what  is  it  ?  '  His  voice  was  a  cry.  '  I  can  feel 
my  leg  ;  my  foot ;  it  huits — but  it 's  not  there.' 


286  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

The  nurse  looked  at  him  and  glanced  away. 
'  Captain,  you  Ve  borne  it  so  bravely  up  to  now — you 
mustn't  .  .  .' 

'  Yes,  but  where  .  .  .  ?  what  has  happened  ?  .  .  . 
My  leg.  .  .  .' 

The  nurse  did  not  speak,  but  stood  looking  out  into 
the  sunlight. 

Zillner  buried  his  face  in  the  pillow  and  sobbed. 
He  felt  the  convulsion  shaking  his  whole  body — yes, 
both  his  legs,  down  to  the  feet,  answered  nervously  to  his 
questioning  sense.  But  when  he  stretched  out  his  hand 
again  to  the  right  knee  he  found  his  fingers  closing  over 
the  stiffly  bandaged  stump.  .  .  . 

The  nurse  had  gone.  For  hours  he  lay  without  a 
word,  staring  out  at  the  frame  of  the  window  opposite. 
Then,  later  in  the  afternoon,  as  the  fever  increased,  he 
had  a  pleasant  surprise.  His  mother  came  to  see  him. 
And  he  saw  her  dear  old  face  and  heard  her  voice  : 
'  You  are  spared,  dear  boy,  you  are  alive !  And  I  am 
with  you  now.  What  does  it  matter  about  the  Jeg,  as 
long  as  you  are  alive  ?  '  '  Yes,  but  mother,  I  shall 
have  to  hobble  about  on  crutches,  and  all  my  dreams — 
all  nothing !  The  girl  I  was  to  .  .  .  she  will  have 
nothing  but  pity  for  a  cripple.  Her  heart  will  turn 
toward  the  men  who  are  whole  and  strong.  O  mother, 
mother ! '  And  the  dead  mother  he  loved  stroked 
his  burning  forehead,  with  hands  so  soft  and  gentle, 
like  no  others  in  the  world.  '  If  she  does  that,'  she  said, 
'  then  she  did  not  love  you.     But  you  are  alive  ! ' 

And  he  smiled,  as  at  a  happy  dream,  and  the  Sister 
with  the  plain,  kindly  face,  coming  in  softly  with  some 
soothing  medicine,  was  pleased.  '  He  will  get  over  it,' 
she  thought.  He  took  the  powder,  and  felt  that  he  was 
sweating  violently ;  then  he  fell  into  an  easy,  quiet 
sleep.  The  vision  of  the  dead  woman  faded,  glided 
silently  away,  and  was  gone.  But  when  the  line  of  the 
fever  chart  rose  again,  she  would  return.  Those  were 
Zillner's  happiest  hours.  His  forehead  was  dry  and 
hot.     But   she   came   gliding   towards   him,    the   only 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  287 

woman  in  the  world,  and  near  and  dear  to  him  now  as 
years  ago  .  .  .  sat  by  his  side  and  talked  with  him  in 
love  from  beyond  the  grave.  It  was  through  her  alone 
that  he  found  courage  to  live,  despite  the  powders  that 
showed  him  only  misery  in  health.  Day  after  day  for 
many  days,  she  came.  But  each  time  her  stay  was 
shorter,  and  at  last  she  ceased  to  come  at  all.  Then 
they  gave  him  chicken,  bread,  and  wine,  and  said  he 
was  convalescent.  So  perhaps  she  knew  that  he  did 
not  need  her  any  more. 

And  then  one  day,  with  the  midsummer  sun  blazing 
outside,  he  got  up.  Nice  dark  crutches  with  rubber 
tips  and  padded  shoulder  pieces  to  support  him.  He 
stumped  along  the  row  of  beds,  slowly  and  awkwardly, 
and  the  other  patients,  still  humbly  confined  to  their 
beds,  watched  him  and  cried  :  '  Bravo — getting  on 
finely ! ' 

And  the  Sister  was  quite  flushed  with  sympathy  and 
pleasure.     '  Why,  you  're  doing  splendidly,'  she  said. 

*  Circus  tricks,'  he  murmured,  *  hopping  about  on 
one  leg.  .  .  .' 

But  the  Sister  clapped  her  hands  as  he  swung  himself 
forward  in  long,  gliding  movements  down  the  centre  of 
the  room.     *  Couldn't  be  better ! '  she  cried. 

Zillner  sat  down,  pale  with  exertion.  '  Enough  for 
to-day.'  The  stump  of  his  leg  was  aching  and  throbbing 
— and  all  the  time  he  felt  so  distinctly  as  if  all  that  was 
needed  was  to  step  out  firmly  with  the  missing  foot.  He 
could  feel  every  toe  in  it  still. 

Gradually  he  gained  strength.  The  muscles  of  his 
arms  grew  accustomed  to  the  work,  and  his  left  leg 
willingly  took  over  its  extra  share.  He  was  getting 
into  training  ;  each  day  a  few  minutes  longer,  a  few 
yards  farther.  And  the  day  when  he  first  tried  his 
way  down  the  polished  stone  steps  to  the  garden  was 
a  little  triumph  in  itself. 

The  sun  hung  in  the  dark  heavy  green  of  the  summer- 
clad  trees,  and  drew  rings  and  spots  of  light  on  the 


288  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

gravel  paths.  He  looked  at  it  in  a  glad  surprise,  as  at 
a  new  possession — something  exclusively  his  own.  He 
noted  the  bees  and  butterflies  as  they  flew,  and  was 
glad  at  that — he  saw  them  again  after  all.  The  buzz 
of  insects  gave  him  a  warm  thrill  of  joy  to  hear.  And 
so  he  made  his  way,  slowly,  down  the  garden  walks. 

On  the  farther  side  of  the  garden,  where  a  long  row 
of  houses  stretched  away  in  the  sunlight,  flags  were  hung 
out.  Black-and-yellow,  red -and -white,  and  black-red- 
and -white  thrust  out  from  attic  windows  and  waving 
over  the  roofs,  a  blare  of  colour  in  the  blaze  of  the  sun. 

Zillner  sat  down  on  a  seat,  and  opened  the  morning 
paper.  There  it  was,  in  heavy  type  !  '  Fall  of  Warsaw. 
Warsaw  in  our  hands.'  And  underneath,  in  smaller 
letters  and  different  styles  of  type,  were  minor  headlines, 
arranged  with  all  the  effect  that  typographical  assort- 
ment can  lend  to  the  work  of  serving  up  events  in  a 
worthy  style.  The  paper  had  paraded  in  full  strength. 
The  matter  itself  was  wreathed  and  garlanded  about 
with  words,  as  with  roses  and  laurel.  It  was  as  if  the 
editor  in  chief  had  given  special  orders  to  his  staff  to 
throw  the  last  reserves  of  their  ardour  into  the  rotary 
press,  and  pour  in  adjectives  and  metaphors  by  the 
bucketful,  remembering  that  it  was  a  great  occasion, 
which  would  give  them  a  chance  to  increase  their 
circulation.  There  was  the  competition  to  be  considered  ; 
it  would  not  do  to  be  left  behind  in  the  triumphal  march, 
and  come  up  with  drooping  colours  in  the  rear.  Zillner 
read  the  leading  article  and  the  special  correspondence 
with  a  strange  delight.  It  was  journalism  let  loose, 
with  none  of  the  galling  reserve  that  had  been  so  evident 
before.  Only  the  little  black  flags  stuck  about  coquet- 
tishly  gave  a  different  note :  '  Fallen  on  the  northern 
front '  .  .  .  •  Fallen  during  operations  in  the  south,'  .  .  . 
like  little  memorial  brasses.  Specialists  in  elegy 
paragraphed  briefly  and  expressively  the  loss  of  this 
or  that  popular  hero.  The  official  communiques  were 
laconic  in  the  extreme — now,  with  the  armies  really 
making  progress,   there   was   no   need   for  the   many 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  289 

explanatory  comments.  Enormous  columns  of  figures — 
the  numbers  of  prisoners  taken — marched  past  in 
sharply  cut  sentences,  and  the  reports  from  the  front 
were  built  on  solid  foundations  of  Russian  corpses 
numbered  by  the  thousand.  The  citizens  might  rejoice  ; 
here  was  all  that  the  most  patriotic  heart  could  desire, 
set  forth  in  correct  and  methodical  order.  Warsaw 
taken  by  storm,  ideal  leadership,  heroes,  mountains 
of  dead,  prisoners,  and  so  on  ! 

Zillner  laid  the  paper  down.  His  soul  refused  to  fire 
up  in  enthusiasm  at  the  bidding  of  the  carefully  chosen 
phrases,  but  he  looked  at  the  flags,  and  was  glad. 
Those  symbols  of  the  people's  strength,  black-and-white, 
red-and -white,  to  his  mind  they  waved  in  honour  of  the 
nameless,  common  men,  whose  willingness  to  die  had 
a  quality  of  mysticism  in  the  monstrous  crime  against 
humanity  by  which  they  had  fallen.  To  his  mind,  they 
waved  above  the  graves  of  unknown  heroes  whose 
martyrdom  should  pave  the  way  to  banishment  for  the 
atrocity  of  war.  .  .  .  Ay,  first  strew  their  graves  richly 
with  flowers,  and  then,  let  all  strong  arms  be  lifted 
towards  heaven,  and  all  sound  minds  unite  in  a  con- 
fession that  should  ring  with  one  voice  through  all  the 
earth  :  *  We  will  be  riien  henceforth,  not  cattle  for  the 
slaughter.'  Yes,  that  must  be  the  end  of  wars  now,  for 
all  time.  So  he  thought,  as  he  rose,  and,  inspired  by  his 
dreams,  made  his  way  rapidly  along  the  path. 

He  moved  with  lifted  head  over  the  spots  of  sun- 
light on  the  shady  walks,  weaving  golden  dreams  .  .  . 
golden  dreams !  .  .  . 

And  in  his  joy  at  life  thus  regained,  in  his  rejoicing 
over  the  sun  that  watched  and  guarded  all  its  little 
ones — the  fruits  with  their  ripening  juices,  the  tiny 
insects  humming  with  vitality  in  the  noonday  heat, 
creatures  with  six  legs  and  those  with  four,  and  most 
of  all  those  with  two — all  humming  together  in  a  mid- 
summer chorus  of  rejoicing — Zillner  felt  that  he,  too, 
must  join  in. 

Join  in  ! — ^and  he  a  cripple  ?    But  what  matter  ?    Had 

T 


290  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

he  not  a  warm  heart,  and  the  strength  of  youth  ?  And 
had  he  not  now  for  months  borne  with  him  through  the 
chambers  of  hell  the  image  of  a  bright-eyed  girl  ?  Early 
that  spring  .  .  .  yes,  it  was  long  ago  now.  He  had 
never  heard  from  her  since,  but  the  perfume  of  their 
gentle  meeting,  the  wordless  intuition  that  had  filled 
him  then,  still  hung  about  him.  And  as  he  gradually 
emerged  from  the  ghostly  twilight  of  sickness,  and  from 
the  thought  of  his  own  disaster,  and  could  declare  for 
life  in  spite  of  all,  he  felt  more  and  more  intensely  the 
need  to  find  and  see  her  once  more,  this  girl  whom  he 
could  not  forget.  But  how  ?  How  was  he  to  find  her  ? 
He  sat  under  the  deep -green  trees,  pondering  ways  and 
means,  and  drawing  figures  on  the  gravel  with  his  crutch. 

He  would  not  go  to  see  her  at  the  hospital.  Should 
he  write  ?  He  felt  a  kind  of  shame  at  the  thought  of 
thus  seeking  her  out  and  bringing  himself  before  her 
again,  now  that  he  was  as  he  was.  How  could  he  ask 
her  to  look  on  it — she  who  was  whole  and  fresh  and 
strong  ?  No — he  could  not  do  it.  He  could  imagine 
how  it  would  be  ;  she  would  look  at  him,  and  see  what 
had  happened,  and  start  in  surprise — then  she  would 
say  some  words  of  pity — and  then  walk  on  beside  him, 
always  with  side-long  glances  at  his  disfigurement.  For 
after  all — ^good  and  sweet  as  she  was,  she  was  still  a 
woman  .  .  .  and  he  a  man  who  could  never  be  seen  with- 
out his  crutches,  whom  one  could  only  look  upon  with 
pity  .  .  .  pity !  .  .  .  No  !  It  would  be  unbearable. 
Better  never  to  see  her  again  at  all ! 

When  he  thought  thus,  all  the  bitterness  of  his  ship- 
wreck rose  up  in  him.  He  cursed  the  smooth  tiny 
ripples  on  the  sea  of  life  over  which  his  happier  fellows 
could  so  gaily  dance.  And  when  one  of  them  passed  him, 
a  comrade,  walking  easily  and  confidently  upon  his  two 
sound  legs,  a  horrible  envy  gripped  him.  He  would 
stand  watching,  with  clenched  teeth,  noting  every 
movement,  all  the  ordered  and  effective  play  of  muscle 
and  sinew — a  runner,  able  to  enter  for  the  course  of 
life,  a  favourite  in  the  race — while  he  himself  .   .    . 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  291 

was  scratched  at  the  last  moment.  He — he,  to  be  out 
of  it  all  I  He  clenched  his  fists  at  the  blind  goddess 
of  fate :  what  had  he  done  that  this  should  be  his  lot  ? 
.  .  .  But  as  he  stumped  forward  again  along  the  gravel 
path,  a  ray  of  comfort  came  to  him,  came  with  the  sun- 
beams, down  through  the  dark  trees  that  rose  towering 
towards  the  sky.  She  was  not  like  the  rest.  She  could 
not  be.  She  would  look  on  him  as  she  had  done  in  the 
spring.  As  she  had  done  then.  .  .  .  She  would  not 
even  notice  what  had  happened — or,  better,  she  would 
look  on  it  as  something  utterly  immaterial,  since  he 
himself  was  unchanged.  There  was  a  rustling  in  the 
branches  of  the  old  trees,  and  the  sunflecked  shadows 
danced — a  foretaste  of  joy,  of  happiness  to  come.  .  .  . 

But  as  he  thus  groped  back  and  forth  between  light 
and  gloom,  seeking  for  the  narrow  and  difficult  path  to 
the  open,  a  woman  watched  him  from  the  high  windows 
of  the  hospital  corridor — the  Sister  with  the  homely 
face  that  had  no  beauty  to  draw  men's  looks.  Often 
she  stood  there,  watching  his  slender  figure  with  sorrow- 
ful eyes,  and  feeling  herself  so  hopelessly  alone.  How 
quickly  he  was  recovering,  he  could  get  about  un- 
aided already.  .  .  .  Yes,  she  was  glad  of  it  .  .  .  with 
a  sharp  pain  ever  at  her  heart.  He  did  not  see  her — 
he  would  never  see  her.  .  .  .  Then  she  would  go  back, 
with  the  quiet  smile  of  the  unwanted,  to  her  work ;  to 
the  operating-table,  and  the  wards,  to  help  and  nurse 
and  comfort  and  be  kind. 

•  •••••• 

Zillner  pondered  for  days,  and  his  longing  grew. 
How  would  he  meet  her  ?  By  accident  it  must  be,  of 
course.  At  any  rate  it  must  seem  so — she  must  not 
think  that  he  had  sought  her  out.  And  then  he  could 
see  at  the  first  glance  how  she  took  it.  He  would  observe 
dispassionately,  and  see  what  her  glance  said,  and  then 
.  .  .  happiness,  or  .  .  .  but  no,  she  could  not  be  like 
that  .  .  .  she  ... 

Early  one  afternoon  he  could  bear  it  no  longer ;  he 
must  go  out.    He  put  on  a  new  uniform  and  hobbled 


292  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

out,  his  crutches  tappmg,  first  on  the  pavement  of  the 
Httle  suburban  streets,  and  then  along  the  promenade 
under  the  trees  of  the  Ring.  People  noticed  him,  and 
made  way  for  him  to  pass — a  little  too  markedly,  he 
thought.  Many  looked  at  him  in  evident  pity ;  the 
women  especially  with  eyes  full  of  tender  sympathy. 
'  Poor,  poor  fellow ! '  they  seemed  to  say.  And  it  jarred 
on  him  almost  to  anger.  He  walked  on,  looking  straight 
before  him,  and  trying  not  to  meet  the  glance  of  those 
who  passed. 

The  streets  were  full  of  life.  There  were  many 
children,  holding  their  mother's  or  their  nurse's  hand. 
And  elderly  men  who  seemed  to  be  thinking  :  '  What 
did  I  tell  you  ?  Thank  Heaven,  I  am  well  out  of  it 
myself ! '  Youths  shambling  along  with  an  important 
air — aged  seventeen,  and,  if  not  soldiers  yet,  they  would 
be  very  soon,  and  demanded  respect  in  advance.  Young 
men  were  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  even  the  middle- 
aged  paterfamilias  was  but  sparsely  represented.  But 
it  did  not  seem  to  make  any  difference  after  all.  Here 
and  there  a  woman  in  mourning ;  a  black  veil  fluttering 
through  the  crowd  seemed  the  expression  of  a  hopeless 
sorrow  that  only  asked  to  be  left  in  peace. 

But  these  were  the  exceptions,  and  life  passed  over 
them  unheeding ;  some  were  delirious  with  the  fever 
heat  of  victory ;  others  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 
war,  and  took  things  cheerfully  in  the  old  way.  Vienna 
is  a  careless  beauty,  and  does  not  care  for  doleful  faces. 
If  sacrifices  were  demanded — c'est  la  guerre.  And  no 
reason  to  make  oneself  miserable  for  that.  As  long  as 
one  could  keep  out  of  it  oneself.  The  streets  rang  with 
loud  placards  announcing  concerts,  theatres,  copper 
and  brass  collection  days.  There  was  always  an  element 
of  amusement  even  in  these.  The  veriest  pessimists  and 
croakers  had  changed  their  tone,  as  the  tavern-keepers 
could  witness.  They  talked  loudly  of  Petrograd  as  a 
trump  card,  and  of  settling  the  Russians  that  way — it 
could  easily  be  done  if  only  one  went  the  right  way  to 
work.    They  arranged  it  all  most  neatly,  drinking  much 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  298 

wine — ^vintage  1914  was  not  so  bad  after  all — in  a  spirit 
of  cheerful  confidence,  which  lasted  till  the  next  reverse. 
No,  Vienna  was  not  depressed.  Those  who  were  dying 
out  there  for  their  country,  and  those  who  were  in 
training  for  the  same  in  the  crowded  barracks  could  not 
silence  the  orchestra  that  played  so  jubilantly  under 
the  sun's  direction :  '  Victory  1 '  The  daily  press  supplied 
the  double  bass:  '  Evoe,  victory  I'  and  the  General  Staff 
reports  gave  a  leading  solo  :  *  It  should  be  obbcrved  .  .  . 
on  the  one  hand  .  .  .  while  on  the  other  hand  .  .  .' 
And  so  on. 

Zillner  hobbled  along  with  the  crowd,  searching  about 
for  a  slender  woman  in  a  black  dress.  And  wherever  he 
caught  sight  of  a  Red  Cross  cloak  he  thought,  *  Perhaps 
it  is  she  1 ' 

Portraits  of  stem-faced  German  generals  appeared 
in  the  photographers'  windows  :  *  Look  at  me,  citizen ;  I 
am  the  ruler  of  the  world ! '  And  less  conspicuously  dis- 
played were  the  softer-featured  Austrian  leaders  with 
their  many  decorations  ;  they  seemed  to  be  whispering — 
'  I  'm  in  it  too,  though— don't  forget  that ! ' 

He  came  to  the  Ballhausplatz,  where  the  Foreign 
Ministry  has  its  office  ;  a  couple  of  men  with  portfolios 
under  their  arms  were  walking  straight  toward  the 
entrance  gateway.  From  their  inscrutable  faces  it  was 
plain  that  they  were  co-operating  in  the  giant  work  which 
enabled  Austria  to  carry  on  a  war  on  three  separate 
fronts.  The  portfolios  contained,  perhaps,  the  materials 
for  bringing  about  the  establishment  of  a  fourth  ^ — 
the  unintelligent  faces  of  the  pair  were  sufficient  evidence 
that  they  were  capable  of  that.  Zillner  looked  scornfully 
at  these  tennis  players,  these  causeurs  of  Vienna  society. 
A  pack  of  drones,  he  thought ;  impotent  drones.  The 
thing  that  had  grown  up  out  of  all  their  documents  had 
sent  the  useful  workers  in  thousands  to  their  death. 
In  a  colony  of  bees,  the  bodies  of  such  futile  meddlers 
would  long  since  have  been  thrown  out  to  rot  under  the 
hive.     But  in  our  world,  they  were  suffered  to  go  on, 

'  Rumania. 


294  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

these  cavaliers  by  the  grace  of  ancestry  and  the  tailor. 
At  the  end,  when  the  results  of  the  slaughter  were 
reckoned  up,  they  would  be  able  to  draw  their  fill  of 
renown.  But  the  others,  the  poor  and  simple,  who  had 
been  shattered  and  torn  to  pieces,  exploited  by  the  great ; 
the  beasts  of  burden,  whose  desperate  efforts  had  once 
more  succeeded  in  pulling  the  cart  out  from  the  ditch, 
what  would  be  their  reward  ?  Words — ^words  and 
hollow  phrases.  New  '  truths  '  would  be  coined,  which 
true  men's  hearts  would  instinctively  reject;  yet  the 
people  would  murmur  them  all  the  same,  in  an  involun- 
tary repetition,  as  with  a  rosary,  and  the  priests  would 
give  their  blessing ;  and  then,  on  again,  like  drivers 
of  carts  condemned  to  an  endless  monotony  of  dull 
service,  as  tools  for  greater  men's  desire  for  power — 
conceived,  born,  duped,  used  up,  and  forgotten ! 

The  war,  thought  Zillner,  as  he  hobbled  along  on  his 
crutches  through  the  sunlight,  giving  himself  up  to  his 
dreams — the  war  had  revealed  monstrous  cankers  and 
rottennesses  in  so-called  incontrovertible  truths.  It 
was  an  Augean  stable.  But  the  business  of  war  was 
merely  to  note  down  the  symptoms,  and,  as  those  who 
believed  in  it  imagined,  to  cut  away  the  unsound  parts. 
The  work  of  carrying  away  the  ruins  left  over,  and 
building  something  new  upon  the  site — that  must  be 
left  to  future  generations.  Zillner  wondered  what 
would  come  after  it  all.  The  lessons  of  the  war  were 
largely  preached  to  empty  benches ;  the  many  did  not 
heed.  Had  not  the  history  of  the  world  cried  aloud 
to  them  to  let  an  aristocracy  of  intelligence  replace  that 
of  blood  ?  But  had  they  listened  ?  War  after  war 
they  had  fought  with  but  little  hope  of  success,  thanks 
to  the  imbecility  of  those  leaders.  Yet  still  the  solidarity 
among  the  high-born  contrived  to  keep  the  babbling 
fools  upon  their  feet.  Would  it  be  otherwise  to-morrow  ? 
Was  it  not  more  probable  that  after  a  faint  attempt 
to  change,  all  would  revert  to  the  old  regime  ?  The 
lessons  of  history  called  for  a  general  clearance,  dis- 
infection, and  renewal — all  that  was  done  in  reality 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  295 

was  to  patch  up  the  old  by  so-called  '  reforms.'  A 
nation  of  priests  and  nobles,  miserably  lacking  in 
ordinarily  clever  heads,  and  poorer  still  in  prospects  for 
the  future.  Cripples,  thought  Zillner,  hobbling  cripples 
.  .  .  like  himself ! 

He  reached  the  entrance  to  the  Volksgarten.  At 
the  Temple  of  Theseus  a  flock  of  children  were  shouting 
and  playing.  Behind  the  shady  chestnuts,  the  crowded 
caf6  beckoned  invitingly.  He  was  tired  and  dispirited, 
and  made  his  way  towards  the  entrance,  seeking  for  a 
vacant  table.  As  he  stood  looking  round,  some  one 
called  him  by  name,  and  a  moment  later  Baroness  Lisl 
Krottenburg  stood  before  him,  shaking  his  hand  with 
unaffected  pleasure.  '  How  lucky  to  meet  you  here — 
Moritz  will  be  glad.' 

He  murmured  a  few  words  of  greeting,  with  a  foolish 
sense  of  shame  at  standing  there  on  crutches  face  to  face 
with  a  woman  who  had  known  him  in  the  days  when 
he  was  sound  and  whole.  In  her  eyes,  too,  he  could  see 
that  accursed  expression  of  pity  that  he  had  noted  in  so 
many  others.  Swift  as  lightning  she  glanced  at  his 
disfigurement,  as  if  it  had  not  been  there,  and  yet 
distinctly  saying  to  herself — '  A  cripple — a  cripple  .  .  . 
poor  fellow ! ' 

Zillner  bit  his  lips.  '  I  've  grown  a  bit  lighter  since 
last  we  met,'  he  said,  and  pointed  with  a  forced  smile 
to  his  leg. 

They  walked  slowly  through  the  crowd  of  curiously 
sympathetic  spectators  to  her  table.  Krottenburg  was 
there,  his  tall  figure  dressed  now  in  mufti,  and  with  a 
light  overcoat  thrown  over  his  shoulders. 

Krottenburg  greeted  him  without  surprise,  and 
moved  slightly  to  let  him  sit  down.  '  Yes,  we  're  out 
of  it,'  he  said,  in  his  drawling  voice.  '  We  're  out  of  it 
now — just  as  things  are  beginning  to  move  on  a  bit. 
Grand  work  they  've  been  doing  lately.  It 's  hard  to  be 
idling  here  now.  Well,  perhaps  by  the  autumn  .  .  .' 
He  coughed  slightly. 

Baroness  Lisl's  soft  brown  eyes  turned  anxiously 


296  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

towards  him,  with  an  expression  as  of  a  frightened  bird 
guarding  its  nest.  '  You  mustn't  talk  so  much,  Moritz, 
you  know.'  And  with  a  desperately  appealing  glance 
at  Zillner,  she  asked  :  '  Don't  you  think  he  's  looking 
well  ?  He  really  has  improved  wonderfully,  yoU 
know.' 

'  Yes,  indeed,'  said  Zillner,  with  a  glance  at  her  hus- 
band, whose  haggard  face  was  flushed  with  a  burning 
spot  on  either  cheek.  '  Wonderfully  well ! '  And  he 
looked  away,  striving  not  to  appear  startled  at  the 
terrible  change. 

The  two  men  exchanged  notes  of  their  experiences. 
Zillner  spoke  of  his  brave  little  men,  and  how  he  had 
grown  fond  of  them  ;  how  the  blind  slaughter  had 
robbed  him,  first  of  all  enthusiasm,  then  of  his  faith  as  a 
soldier,  until  at  last  all  his  ideals  had  collapsed,  leaving 
nothing  of  the  world  for  which  he  had  lived  till  then. 
He  spoke  of  the  courage  and  willing  sacrifice  among  the 
common  men,  and  the  greed  of  the  leaders  to  exploit 
them ;  and,  as  is  often  the  case  with  men  whose  ideas 
are  crowded  into  a  restricted  circle  of  powerful  and 
insistent  thoughts,  he  drew  upon  his  own  experiences, 
and  spoke  by  examples. 

Krottenburg  looked  on  uncomprehendingly,  aston- 
ished at  the  hot  flow  of  the  other's  words.  His  long  and 
stainless  ancestry  held  a  protecting  hand  over  him,  and 
the  words  that  had  been  the  motto  of  his  race  for 
centuries  stood  plainly  graven  on  his  forehead  now  : 
'  Ich  dien.^  His  business  it  was  to  serve,  not  to  ask 
where  or  why  or  how.  A  Krottenburg  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  question  the  cause  for  which  he  bled.  He 
lived,  and  died  if  need  be,  under  the  device  '  Ich  dien.^ 

But  little  Baroness  Lisl  listened  greedily  to  Zillner's 
words.  The  all-embracing  homelike  unity  of  humanity 
which  he  looked  forward  to,  and  for  which  he  pleaded 
so  passionately,  was  something  her  heart  could  under- 
stand, now  that  her  lover  had  come  home  to  her  a  broken 
man.  The  last  remains  of  those  qualities  which  had 
distinguished  the  Krottenburg  women  by  tradition  had 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  297 

faded  away — no  more  humility,  patience,  and  thought- 
less acceptance  of  all  things  as  the  best.  And  when 
Zillner  had  ended  his  condemnation  of  the  existing  state 
of  things,  she  turned  to  him  with  flushed  cheeks.  '  You 
speak  like  a  disciple  of  the  Saviour,'  she  said  earnestly. 
'  All  that  misery — it  is  dreadful  I  We  had  to  leave 
Mahren,  you  know,  long  before  we  should.  Italy — the 
cowardly  traitors — they  are  going  to  make  it  all  last 
longer  still.'     She  strove  to  keep  back  her  tears. 

Zillner  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  But,  my  dear 
Baroness,  surely  ...  we  call  them  traitors — but  for 
them,  it  is  quite  another  matter.  They  look  on  it  as  a 
sacred  struggle  in  the  cause  of  freedom.  To  us  it  seems 
base,  to  them  glorious.' 

Lisl  raised  her  eyebrows.  '  But  the  treaty — they 
have  broken  their  word — isn't  that  base  ?  ' 

'  Treaty  !  They  thought  it  was  a  good  opportunity 
to  take  advantage  of  the  situation — and  up  to  now  they 
have  gained  nothing  by  it.  What  is  a  treaty  ?  A  scrap 
of  paper !  And  as  for  traitors — treachery — ^we  use  the 
w^ord  when  an  unscrupulous  neighbour  puts  us  in  a 
difficult  position  ;  while  the  unscrupulous  neighbours 
themselves  of  course  regard  it  as  a  proper  observance 
of  legitimate  interests  at  a  convenient  time.' 

Baroness  Lisl  wrung  her  hands.  '  But  surely  it  is 
revolting  to  any  common  sense  of  decency,  the  way 
they  have  acted  here  ?  ' 

'  Common  decency  counts  for  nothing  in  the  labyrinth 
of  majestic  lies  through  which  men  are  driven  at  such 
a  time  as  this,'  said  Zillner  harshly.  '  It  is  just  an 
individual  conception,  and  the  thing  called  truth  is  a 
poor-  cripple,  that  cannot  move  save  on  the  crutches 
lent  to  it  by  power.     It  is  helpless  by  itself.' 

'  Then  you  really  think  that  might  is  the  only  right  ? 
You  do  not  believe  that  right  alone  can  win  in  the 
end  ?    Just  right  alone,  without  any  outward  dress  ? ' 

Zillner  laughed — a  short,  bitter  laugh.  '  There  is  no 
such  thing  in  our  respectable  world  as  right  with  no 
outward  dress.     It  has  to  wear  a  cloak  of  some  sort. 


298  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

What  is  good  and  what  is  evil  ?  It  depends  on  the  point 
of  view.  In  the  childhood  of  the  world  perhaps  there 
may  have  been  something  absolute  and  unadulterated. 
But  now,  we  have  grown  older,  we  have  progressed  by 
crooked  stages,  and  loaded  ourselves  with  all  sorts  of 
culture  and  refinement  and  luxury,  the  state  of  simplicity 
is  ever  so  far  away.'  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
sat  staring  up  at  the  dark  trees.  Then,  speaking  in  a 
lower  voice,  his  words  dragging  hopelessly,  he  went  on  : 
'  All  of  them  call  it  a  just  war.  All  those  who  are  now 
busy  crushing  in  each  other's  heads  with  lumps  of  lead 
and  splinters  of  iron.  And  all  of  them  will  declare 
when  it  is  over  that  they  were  not  to  blame.  Red 
books  and  blue  books  and  yellow  books — ^all  shrieking 
out  that  it  was  the  other's  fault ! 

'  Right ! — ^think,  Baroness,  if  Right  could  hover  freely 
over  this  swamp  of  blood.  All  those  who  flounder 
about  in  it  are  constantly  invoking  it  and  uttering  the 
most  sacred  vows.  They  call  to  it  from  all  sides  with 
flattering  voices:  "You  are  ours:  We  have  a  thousand 
proofs  that  you  must  be  on  our  side — on  ours  alone." 
All  shouting  and  threatening  and  whining  the  same  story, 
from  every  camp  in  the  universal  swamp  of  blood .  They 
have  plundered  every  code  of  laws  from  Justinian  to 
Machiavelli,  and  they  call  up  the  poets  to  sound  their 
golden  harps,  and  sing :  "  We  are  the  judges  of  the  earth. 
Come  over  to  us."  While  they  on  the  other  side  do 
exactly  the  same.  And  Right  hovers  inSecisively 
hither  and  thither — always  the  same  arguments,  the 
same  tune,  the  same  cabalistic  formula — ^which  way  is 
it  to  turn  ?  Then  a  powerful  hand  grasps  it  ruth- 
lessly by  the  wings.  This  way  !  The  Italian  Tyrtseus, 
Gabriele  d'Annunzio  ;  how  cleverly  he  can  blend  false 
chords  to  a  sensual  hymn  of  war — like  the  unhealthy 
scribbler  that  he  is.  Millions  believe  in  him.  Are  they 
all  only  fools  or  rogues  ?  No  ;  but  their  point  of  view 
is  such  that  they  can  feel  an  honest  enthusiasm  for  their 
own  cause,  while  we  are  obliged  by  ours  to  be  righteously 
indignant  at  their  meanness.    And  when  all  is  said. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  299 

maybe  this  divine  Gabriele  himself  is  for  once  inspired 
by  a  pure  flame — for  what  we  here  call  treachery  is 
for  him  the  sacred  cause  of  his  people.  And  it  is  exactly 
the  same  with  the  Russians,  English,  French,  Serbians, 
Japanese.  And  we — we  make  our  bow,  and  hold  out 
arguments  just  as  convincing  in  the  opposite  direction, 
inviting  Right  to  be  on  our  side.' 

'  But  where  is  it  ?  It  must  be  somewhere  ?  '  The 
Baroness  looked  at  Zillner  with  the  air  of  a  child 
searching  in  vain  for  a  favourite  toy. 

'  It  is  simply  wherever  Might  happens  to  be.  Later 
on,  Clio  puts  on  objective  spectacles,  composes  her 
WTinkled  face  to  an  expression  of  impartiality,  and 
declares  what  force  and  decisiveness  and  luck  have 
won  to  be  the  historical  truth,  without  troubling  as  a 
rule  about  lengthy  investigations  as  to  whether  the 
victor  really  had  right  on  his  side.' 

Baroness  Lisl  shuddered. »  '  When  you  talk  like  that  it 
is  enough  to  make  one  lose  all  faith — in  everything.  .  .  .' 

'  Our  faith,  too,  is  crumbling,'  said  Zillner.  '  But 
it  does  not  fall.  The  men  in  the  swamp  of  blood  grasp 
their  battered  heads,  and  see  confusedly  that  a  strip  of 
land  east  or  west  has  changed  hands  .  .  .  and  the  end 
of  all  the  slaughter  is  a  Te  Deum,  sung  with  intense 
conviction  by  those  who  happened  to  escape,  or  were 
wise  enough  to  keep  out  of  it  all.' 

*  And  they  call  it  a  time  of  great  happenings,'  she 
murmured,  and  her  lips  trembled.  '  The  children  read 
about  it  in  their  schoolbooks  and  are  taught  to  believe 
in  the  greatness  of  it  all.  And  we  .  .  .'  She  looked 
with  tearful  eyes  at  her  husband. 

Kjottenburg  had  been  sitting  quietly,  watching  the 
people  about.  He  turned  to  his  wife  as  she  spoke  : 
'  Don't  go  philosophising  about  things,  Lisl.  We  can't 
alter  it,  so  it 's  no  use.'  He  coughed  slightly,  and 
glanced  away  towards  the  stream  of  people  coming  and 
going.  There  was  a  waxen  pallor  about  his  ears,  and 
thin  furrows  ran  down  behind  them  to  the  neck. 

His  wife  sprang  up,  and,  drawing  a  silk  scarf  from  her 


300  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

jacket,  laid  it  carefully  round  his  throat.  '  You 
shouldn't  talk  so  much,  Moritz,  you  know.  And  it 's 
getting  cool.    Hadn't  we  better  be  going  ?  ' 

Krottenburg  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  certain  effort. 
He  offered  his  hand  to  Zillner,  with  a  strange,  cold 
glance,  and  bade  him  farewell  in  a  formal  tone. 

Baroness  Lisl  smiled  in  some  embarrassment.  '  You 
must  come  and  see  us  often,  won't  you  ?  Come  as  soon 
as  you  can.  Only  ring  up  first,  and  hear  if  we  are  at 
home.' 

Her  voice  had  the  same  kindly  heartiness  as  of  old. 

Zillner  awoke  as  from  a  dream,  and  looked  at  the  pair. 
They  stood  there,  ready  to  go.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
stammered  out :  '  I  beg  your  pardon — it  was — I  ought 
not  perhaps  .  .  .'  And  suddenly  it  struck  him  that  he 
must  appear  ridiculous.  He  lifted  Lisl's  gloved  hand 
to  his  lips  and  touched  Krottenburg's  extended  fingers. 
Then  they  went  off,  and  he  sat  there  alone  watching  the 
retreating  figures  as  they  passed  down  between  the  rows 
of  tables  ;  the  man  thin  and  stooping,  and  his  wife 
walking  close  by  his  side  as  if  to  say :  '  I  will  never  leave 
you — never  again.  I  will  watch  over  and  help  you 
always,  always.' 

Zillner  sat  down  again.  Twilight  was  falling,  with  a 
delicate  play  of  colours,  red  and  yellow  and  silver  ;  the 
summer  evening  wearing  its  loveliest  robes  to  greet  its 
end.  The  cafe  was  almost  deserted;  an  old  waiter 
came  shambling  up  towards  him  holding  out  an  evening 
paper.  '  There  's  news  this  time,  sir.  Russians  have 
blown  up  Brest  Litovsk,  and  we  're  on  the  way  to 
Moscow  after  them.  That 's  the  way  ! '  Zillner  was 
looking  away,  watching  the  flow  of  gold  down  over  the 
new,  stone-grey  Kaiserburg.  As  if  to  force  his  atten- 
tion, the  man  w^ent  on  :  '  My  only  son  's  at  the  front. 
He  is  in  the  artillery,  at  Dniestr.  Well,  it  '11  soon  be 
over  now — ^what  do  you  say,  sir  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  it  ought  to  be,'  said  Zillner.  '  But  aren't 
you  ever  anxious  about  him  ?  ' 

'  Well — I   won't   say — at   times.    Having   only   the 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  801 

one  .  .  .  but  I  say  to  myself  the  Lord  couldn't  take 
him  away  like  that.     Only  the  one,  you  know.  .  .  .' 

Zillner  paid  hu  reckoning,  and  the  old  man  bowed 
and  shambled  away. 

It  was  still  current,  then,  that  ancient  formula  of  the 
miracle-workers !  Millions  of  simple  folk  took  it  and 
lived  on  it  in  good  faith.  The  Lord  could  not — it  could 
not  be  His  will  to  take  my  only  son — or  my  two,  three 
sons  .  .  .  my  husband  .  .  .  my  brother  .  .  .  each  one 
of  them  found  comfort  in  it,  just  as  the  old  waiter  had 
done.  For  a  moment  Zillner  envied  him  his  faith  ; 
envied  him,  and  all  the  great  world  of  church-goers, 
women  and  children,  whose  unquestioning  minds 
dreamed  wonderful  fairy  tales.  Once  upon  a  time  there 
was  a  God.  He  created  me  and  held  His  hand  over  me, 
and  I  pray  to  Him,  and  therefore  He  protects  me.  It  can- 
not be  His  will  that  evil  should  happen  to  me.  .  .  .  Yes, 
he  envied  the  masses.  They  went  through  life  begging 
and  praying  for  the  miracles  of  God's  grace,  praying 
through  all  horrors,  and  growing  only  the  more  fervent 
when  their  prayers  were  of  no  avail.  Even  as  they 
sank  under  the  weight  of  the  last  affliction,  they  would 
see  His  loving  face :  *  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  wearj^ 
and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.' 

The  shadows  sank  deeper  over  the  trees  and  spread 
out  far  over  the  gravel  paths.  The  lamps  were  being 
lit.  Zillner  sat  puffing  cigarette  smoke  out  into  the 
evening  air,  and  felt  himself  growing  calmer.  Out  in 
the  garden  there,  the  figure  of  a  girl  hovered  before 
his  vision.  Save  yourself,  brain-sick  one  !  Cease  to 
torture  yourself  with  the  thought  of  the  massacres 
where  beasts  of  burden  are  driven  to  the  slaughter. 
Go  your  way,  and  let  the  masses  go  theirs.  They  will 
not  thank  you  for  all  your  pains — their  Saviour  is  not 
yours.  The  normal  state  of  the  masses  is  a  passive 
receptivity.  And  the  poorer  the  truths  which  they  can 
grasp,  the  simpler  must  they  be.  God  is  with  us — there- 
fore we  must  conquer.     Conquer  !    That  pleases  them. 


802  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

The  thought  wipes  away  all  the  dullness,  misery,  and 
torment  of  their  life.  We  conquer  !  The  word  is  in  all 
their  hearts.  They  shout  together,  and  at  last  all  are 
convinced  that  it  must  be  so.  What  can  you  do,  fool, 
against  the  suggestive  force  of  words  and  phrases  upon 
the  mass,  which  leads  them,  as  '  victors,'  to  forget  all 
the  wretchedness  that  has  gone  before  ?  Go  your  own 
way  in  peace,  and  let  them  go  theirs.  Cease  to  torture 
yourself  in  vain.  .  .  . 

After  the  fifth  cigarette,  Zillner  had  regained  his 
peace  of  mind,  and  his  thoughts  leaped  lightly  and 
softly  towards  the  girl  who  was  like  a  mountain  flower. 
Erika  .  .  .  she  was  the  goal  of  his  longing  ...  a  home 
for  his  soul.  He  would  love  her  and  build  palace 
after  palace  for  her  .  .  .  no,  cottages,  with  gardens  of 
flowers.  And  no  more  loneliness  !  No  more  living  alone 
with  an  unsatisfied  desire,  a  vague  will,  an  affection  for 
those  who  after  all  would  never  understand  .  .  .  because 
the  fabled  God  lived  in  them  still,  and  was  stronger  than 
all  else,  stronger  than  the  antics  of  a  foolish  philan- 
thropist. The  cruelties  and  kindness  of  the  ancient 
miracle -worker  held  them  now  as  they  had  done  a 
thousand  years  ?go.  One  man  who  saw  through  the 
cheat — how  could  he  help  them  all  ? 

Darkness  streamed  through  the  great  empty  garden, 
slipping  aside  where  the  white  light  from  the  lamps  of 
the  Ringstrasse  fell  in  narrow  ribbons  through  the 
trees,  yet  strong  enough  to  fill  the  treetops  with  grey, 
and  blur  the  outline  of  tables  and  chairs  and  gravel 
paths. 

Zillner  took  his  crutches  and  niade  his  way  home. 
He  smiled  as  he  went — a  smile  of  longing. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

'  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  as  you  are,  if  you  please,' 
cried  the  photographer. 

It  was  a  touching  group  that  had  assembled  at  the 
entrance  to  the  hospital  garden.  In  front,  seated  on 
pillows  in  the  grass,  were  three  crippled  infantrymen 
stretching  the  stumps  of  their  legs  towards  the  camera. 
In  the  centre,  a  couple  of  officers  with  bandaged  heads 
were  seated  in  armchairs.  And  behind  them,  standing, 
heroes  with  the  glow  of  victory  in  their  eyes,  and 
coquettish  wrappings  about  the  forehead,  the  whole 
framed  in  a  half  circle  of  nurses  endeavouring  to  look 
as  sympathetic  as  possible. 

'  Oh,  but  Captain  Zillner — he  ought  to — don't  you 
think?'  cried  a  girl's  voice,  and  several  others  joined  in. 
'  Yes,  of  course,  we  must  have  him  too.  Go  and  fetch 
him,  some  one.'  The  Sister  who  had  attended  Zillner 
from  the  first  ran  down  into  the  garden.  The  photo- 
grapher took  his  hand  from  the  cap  of  the  lens,  blinked 
his  eyes,  and  surveyed  the  grouping  once  more  with  a 
critical  glance.     Then  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  waited. 

Zillner  was  sitting  on  a  bench,  writing. 

'  Oh,  would  you  mind  ? '  began  the  Sister  shyly. 
'  We  are  being  photographed,  you  know,  and  the  others 
would  like  you  to  .  .  .' 

He  glanced  up  at  her  absently.  '  I  am  not  on 
exhibition  as  a  crippled  hero,  thanks.  You  must 
excuse  me.' 

'  But  it 's  for  a  charity,  you  know.' 

'  Of  course — of  course.  And  the  poor  men  are  handed 
about  to  be  stared  at  by  any  one  and  every  one.  Stick- 
ing out  their  stumps  of  legs  to  show  they  are  heroes. 
And  people  will  stare  at  them,  and  turn  up  their  eyes 

303 


304  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

in  admiration  and  pity — ^to-day.  In  a  year's  time 
nobody  will  care — an  old  story.  It 's  very  sad,  no 
doubt,  they  '11  say,  but  what  can  one  do  ?  It  was  all 
that  nasty  war.  And  so  on.  And  the  heroes  will  go 
about  grinding  barrel  organs  or  loafing  superfluously 
through  life  with  nobody  to  care,  and  nobody  will  think 
them  worth  photographing  any  longer.' 

'  But  really  they  do,'  said  the  Sister  hesitatingly. 
'  Everybody  buys  them  .  .  .  and  it  can't  hurt  you 
surely,  for  once.  .  .  .  And  there  are  some  perhaps  who 
would  like  to  have  a  picture  for  remembrance — won't 
you,  when  I  ask  you  ?  ' 

'  You  've  plenty  of  gallant  heroes  with  bandaged 
foreheads,  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  And  there  are 
a  couple  of  infantrymen  who  '11  be  only  too  glad  to 
represent  the  cripples'  guild — isn't  that  enough  ?  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  don't  care  to  be  photographed  for  the 
sake  of  a  disfigurement.  I  've  really  nothing  else  to 
offer.' 

The  Sister  blushed.  '  It  isn't  that,  truly,'  she  said. 
'  Wouldn't  you — just  for  remembrance  ?  .  .  .  I  should 
be  so  glad ! '  She  stood  with  bowed  head,  like  a  creature 
coming  to  the  sacrifice.  '  Kill  me,  but  drink  my  blood,' 
she  seemed  to  say.  But  Zillner  could  not  or  would  not 
understand. 

'  How  can  you  be  so  childish  ?  '  he  said  cruelly. 
'  What  use  would  it  be  to  you  ?  ' 

'  Nothing,  nothing,'  she  murmured.  '  Only  .  .  .' 
And  she  walked  away. 

Zillner  called  after  her,  '  Sister,  (Jon't  be  offended,  I 
didn't  mean  .  .  .' 

But  she  hurried  away,  with  soft,  humble  steps  that 
seemed  begging  pardon  of  the  gravel  they  trod.  Zillner 
saw  her  go  up  to  join  the  group,  and  say  a  few  words 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  to  all  appearance  calm 
enough.  He  could  not  see  her  sobbing  as  she  disappeared 
afterwards  inside  the  building,  or  tearing  her  hand- 
kerchief with  her  teeth  on  her  way  to  the  operating- 
room.    When  she  entered,  she  was  paler  than  usual. 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  805 

with  the  impenetrable  gentleness  of  resignation  in  her 
homely  face.     Zillner  saw  nothing  of  that. 

The  photographer  called  out  again :  *  A  moment, 
please,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  You,  sir — the  sound  leg 
a  trifle  forward,  if  you  wouldn't  mind — thanks.  Now 
quite  still  all,  if  you  please — just  a  moment.' 

The  carefully  ordered  group  stiffened  breathlessly. 
The  nurses  posed  their  heads  like  the  angels  on  cheap 
Christmas  cards,  and  gazed  into  nothing  with  dreamy 
eyes.  The  coquettish  heroes  glared  courageously  into 
the  camera's  mouth. 

'  Thank  you,  ladies^andjgentlemen.  .  .  .  And  then 
just  one  more — only  take  a  moment.  .  .  .' 

Zillner  had  finished  his  letter.  He  read  it  through. 
'  Dear  Fraulein  Erika, — Chance  does  not  seem  interested 
in  our  meeting  again  ;  permit  me  therefore  to  lend  it  a 
helping  hand.  I  am  here  in  Vienna  once  more ;  have 
been  here  two  months  now.  As  a  cripple.  With  only 
one  leg.  I  should  like  to  see  you  again.  Would  you 
mind  ?     I  have  not  forgotten  last  spring.' 

He  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  it — it  said  too 
much.  And  he  had  no  right.  .  .  .  But  his  heart  waived 
all  objections  aside.  He  must  see  her — somehow  or 
other.  Nothing  else  mattered.  He  hobbled  off  to  the 
letter-box,  and  dropped  the  letter  in. 

Three  days  later  there  came  a  card,  in  a  neat  sloping 
hand  :  '  Dear  Captain  Zillner, — I  should  very  much 
like  to  see  you  again  ;  it  is  long  smce  I  have  heard  from 
you.  Will  you  be  at  the  corner  of  Parkstrasse,  left  of 
the  station  entrance,  on  Thursday  evening  at  six  ?  I 
have  the  evening  off  then,  and  we  could  have  a  talk. 
Kind  regards,  yours.  .  .  .' — *H'm.  She  might  have 
written  "  affectionately."  Thursday — that  was  day  after 
to-morrow.  "  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  you  again." 
There  was  a  chance  after  all — a  chance  of  coming  back 
to  life. 
I  Zillner  hobbled  round  the  garden  in  a  confused  state 
of  mind,  divided  between  joy  and  anxiety  and  a  childish 

u 


306  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

impatience.  He  was  longing  to  know  the  truth.  He 
read  the  card  again.  And  as  if  heaven  had  purposely 
kept  a  pleasant  surprise  in  store  for  him  till  that  very 
day,  there  came  on  Thursday  morning  a  little  parcel 
and  a  large  brown  official  envelope,  with  the  diploma  of 
the  military  cross  '  for  courageous  devotion  to  duty 
under  fire.'  The  parcel  contained  the  red -and- white 
enamelled  decoration,  with  the  watered  ribbon.  Zillner 
flushed  red  with  joy.  It  was  a  good  omen.  That  very 
afternoon !  .  .  .  He  fastened  the  glittering  trinket  to 
his  tunic,  and  smiled.  A  cross — in  return  for  a  leg. 
It  was  a  bad  bargain.  But  if  he  could  win  her.  .  .  . 
The  idea  was  ridiculous,  impertinent.  A  cripple — even 
a  cripple  with  the  military  cross — ^what  right  had  such 
a  one  to  think  .  .  .  He  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass, 
a  slender  figure,  and  a  pale,  clean-shaven  face.  Not  as 
ill-looking  as  many  others  perhaps.  And  delight  came 
upon  him  in  a  rush  of  frothing  waves,  each  wave -top 
bearing  the  lovely  elfin  figure  of  Hope. 

By  four  o'clock  he  could  wait  no  longer,  but  started 
out ;  it  was  a  relief  of  a  sort  to  know  himself  on  the  way. 
It  was  an  hour's  walk,  but  he  took  the  car.  Two  ladies 
rose  to  offer  him  their  seat ;  he  thanked  them  in  some 
embarrassment,  and  declined,  and  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  they  sat  down  again.  And  once  more  he 
marked  that  accursed  look  of  pity  in  their  eyes.  He 
stood  outside  on  the  platform,  and  lit  a  cigarette.  By 
the  time  he  had  reached  his  destination,  it  was  just 
half-past  four.  He  sat  down  at  one  of  the  tables  in  the 
cafe  opposite  the  park,  and  looked  absently  through 
the  papers,  glancing  continually  over  to  the  entrance, 
and  smoking  cigarettes. 

At  half -past  five  she  came.  But  she  was  not  alone. 
As  she  passed  out  under  the  arch  a  lieutenant  of  artillery 
appeared  behind  her — a  tall,  well-built  man  with  a 
bandaged  head.  Zillner  felt  as  if  his  heart  had  suddenly 
stopped — ^then  it  went  on  again  with  a  rapid,  hammering 
beat.  Somebody  with  her.  .  .  .  Now  they  were  talking 
together.     Smiling   to    each    other.     The   artilleryman 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  807 

talked  rapidly  and  easily,  and  her  beautiful  calm  eyes 
were  fixed  on  his  face.  She  was  pleased  to  see  him — 
that  was  evident  enough.  Then  suddenly  she  turned, 
and  looked  up  and  down  the  street — Zillner  drew  back 
into  a  corner  of  the  window.  She  looked  at  her  wristlet 
watch,  and  said  a  few  words  to  her  companion  ;  he 
saluted,  struck  his  heels  together,  and  smiled,  but  went 
on  talking — insistently,  it  seemed.  Then  she  bowed 
her  head,  and  he  took  her  hand.  Zillner  counted  the 
seconds  while  they  stood  thus  :   one — two — three — four 

— five — six six  seconds  !     And  then  she  bowed  her 

head  again  and  turned  to  go.  But  once  more  their 
hands  met — this  time  only  a  brief  touch — and  she  walked 
off,  her  companion  saluting  and  watching  her  as  she 
went.  She  walked  slowly  down  tow^ards  the  station, 
and  he  disappeared  back  through  the  park  gate. 

The  whole  scene  had  reeled  itself  off  before  Zillner's 
eyes  as  he  sat  in  the  curtained  window  of  the  cafe  ;  it 
was  like  a  fragment  of  a  picture  play,  hurried,  nervous, 
and  blurred  with  movement.  Should  he  go  after  all  ? 
What  was  the  use  ?  But  hope  patted  him  on  the 
shoulder.  The  man  might  have  been  a  relation,  a 
mere  acquaintance,  it  might  mean  nothing ;  it  was 
ridiculous  to  suspect  every  trifling  circumstance  of 
warring  against  his  happiness.  Aiid  she  would  be 
waiting  for  him.  He  paid  his  reckoning,  and  hobbled 
off.  She  was  standing  with  her  back  towards  him  as  he 
came  up. 

'  Good  evening,  Fraulein  Erika.' 

She  turned,  with  a  start,  and  blushed.  Then  held 
out  her  hand,  and  looked  straight  into  his  eyes.  '  I  'm 
so  glad  ! '  she  said. 

'  It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  come,'  said  Zillner, 
and  stood  stiffly  and  helplessly  holding  his  crutches. 

She  began  again,  hesitatingly.  *  I — I  was  so  glad 
to  hear  from  you  again.'  They  stood  a  moment  in 
silence. 

'  Things  have  changed  a  good  deal  since  the  spring,' 
he  ventured.     '  Many  things.' 


308  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  I  ...  it  was.  ...  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  well  again,' 
she  stammered.  Her  eyes  noted  the  cross  on  his 
tunic.  '  And  they  've  given  you  the  cross  .  .  .  con- 
gratulations ! ' 

'  Thanks,'  said  Zillner.  '  Yes,  that  was  as  compensa- 
tion for  the  loss  of  a  leg.'  He  strove  to  speak  carelessly, 
but  both  found  it  difficult  to  go  on,  and  there  was 
another  pause. 

She  looked  at  the  numbers  of  the  cars  as  they  came 
jangling  up,  stopped,  and  passed  on.  '  I  must  be  going 
back  again  directly,'  she  murmured. 

Zillner  pulled  himself  together  and  spoke  frankly  and 
calmly.  '  Fraulein  Erika,  I  have  not  forgotten  you — I 
have  thought  of  you  every  day.  Do  you  care  for  me 
as  you  did  then  ?  ' 

She  looked  down  and  fumbled  with  her  glove.  '  Yes 
indeed,  really,  I  do.     Very  much.     I  like  to  think  .  .  .' 

Then  suddenly  he  burst  out :  '  But  your  friend.  .  .  . 
I  was  there  before,  you  know  when  .  .  .  you  came  out 
from  the  park.  Is  he  ...  Is  he  the  one  you  care  for 
now  ?     Tell  me  ! ' 

She  looked  up  with  bright  eyes,  and  her  face  flushed. 
'  We — ^we  are  engaged  !  It 's  nearly  a  month  now.  I 
would  have  told  you  at  once,  only  .  .  .'  She  stammered 
and  broke  off, 

Zillner  felt  a  rushing  in  his  ears  ;  his  fingers  gripped 
the  handles  of  his  crutches.  '  Then — then  I  beg  your 
pardon,'  he  stammered.  He  could  feel  that  his  cheeks 
had  paled.  But  she  did  not  seem  to  notice  his  agitation. 
'  There  it  is  ! '  she  cried — '  My  car — I  must  go.  Good- 
bye, Captain,  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  better.'  She  looked 
at  him  with  a  delicate  shyness  in  her  eyes. 

He  could  not  meet  her  glance,  but  stared  past  her 
into  the  empty  air.  '  Good-bye,'  he  said,  and  pressed 
her  hand. 

She  hurried  to  the  car,  and  waved  her  hand  as  it 
moved  off,  '  Auf  Wiedersehen  !  ' 

He  bowed  his  head  stiffly,  and  gave  a  little  hopeless 
laugh.     What  was  there  left  to  him  now  ?     Was  this 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  809 

all  ? — ^was  there  no  more  ?  He  looked  about  him. 
Where  was  he  to  go  ?     Where  ? 

He  got  into  the  car  that  passed,  asked  for  a  transfer, 
and  passed  the  station  where  he  should  have  changed 
without  heeding.  He  made  the  circle  of  the  Ringbahn 
twice,  and  as  the  car  drew  up  for  the  second  time  outside 
the  Volksgarten,  the  conductor  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder.  He  stepped  out,  and  went  over  to  the  open 
space  where  the  children  played,  and  sat  down  on  a 
seat.  The  little  ones  were  calling  and  laughing  to  each 
other.  He  noted  it  all  absently  at  first ;  then  he  found 
himself  watching  a  group  by  the  sand -heap.  They 
were  playing  at  soldiers — Russians  and  Austrians.  The 
Russians  were  the  defenders,  and  lay  huddled  up  behind 
the  mound,  a  little  girl  was  throwing  handfuls  of  sand 
at  the  attacking  party,  while  the  rest  lay  in  cover, 
firing  with  their  wooden  rifles.  The  Austrians  charged, 
and  drove  the  Russians  out  of  the  position.  '  That  was 
your  fault,  you  little  fool,'  cried  a  thick-set  boy  with  a 
paper  crown.  *  Can't  even  throw  bombs  properly. 
You  're  no  good  at  all.'  The  girl  began  to  cry.  *  I 
threw  as  hard  as  I  could.  It  wasn't  my  fault — look 
here  ! '  She  held  out  her  apron,  full  of  sand.  '  Well, 
we  '11  let  you  try  once  more,  and  if  you  don't  throw 
properly,  you  '11  be  packed  off  to  the  rear,  and  Maxi 
Zehettner  can  be  bomber  instead.'  The  child  dried 
her  tears,  and  slunk  off  obediently  behind  the  mound. 
The  general  posted  his  men  once  more  ;  the  victorious 
Austrians  drew  back  behind  some  bushes,  and  after  a 
brief  council  of  war  returned  to  make  a  fresh  attack, 
dashing  forward  with  loud  cheers.  The  lady  bomber 
did  her  best,  but  a  detachment  was  sent  off  to  take  her 
in  flank,  and  once  more  the  sand -heap  was  captured. 
This  was  too  much  for  the  Russian  leader ;  he  rushed 
up  to  the  girl  and  struck  at  her.  '  There  !  You  little 
fool !  Haven't  I  told  you  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  flanks 
as  well  ?  Off  you  go  to  the  rear  !  March  I '  The  girl 
set  up  a  howl. 

Zillner  rose  from  his  seat  and  went  towards  them. 


310  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  Can't  you  play  anything  but  soldiers  ? '  he  asked. 
'  It 's  not  a  nice  game  really,  you  know.' 

'  Playing  soldiers  is  the  best  fun  of  all,'  answered  the 
leader,  saluting.  '  If  only  she  wasn't  such  a  muddle - 
head  with  the  bombs.'  The  girl  had  withdrawn  to  a 
corner  of  the  position,  and  sat  there  discomfited,  with 
her  finger  in  her  mouth. 

'  Anyhow,  aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  to  hit  a 
little  girl  like  that  ?  ' 

'  But  it  was  all  her  fault.  She  's  no  good  at  any- 
thing. We  made  her  a  machine-gun  before,  and  it 
was  just  the  same.' 

'  But  war  's  a  nasty  business,  lad.  You  get  killed, 
very  likely,  or  have  your  legs  shot  off.' 

'  Then  you  're  a  hero,'  cried  the  paper-crowned 
enthusiast.  '  I  'm  going  to  be  a  soldier  when  I  grow 
up,  and  go  to  the  war.  But  we  won't  have  her — she  'd 
only  spoil  it  all.' 

'  Oh,  please,'  came  a  piteous  murmur  from  the  re- 
jected one.  '  Don't  leave  me  behind.  I  promise  to  do 
it  right  if  you  will.' 

Zillner  hobbled  away.  War  !  It  was  like  a  violent 
fever.  Even  the  children  were  not  safe  from  its  grasp. 
The  grown-ups  had  been  shouting  and  cheering  for 
more  than  a  year  ;  the  skies  were  hung  with  laurel — 
what  wonder,  then,  that  the  fever  spread  ?  And  those 
who  sat  at  home  alone  with  their  sorrow  and  tears, 
in  want  and  misery  and  wretchedness — all  that  they 
suffered  was  carefully  hidden  away  under  phrase  and 
formula.  It  was  God's  will !  For  the  sake  of  their 
country.  Heroes  and  undying  fame  .  .  .  giving  their 
all.  .  .  .  But  for  what  ?  Peasants  who  had  never 
seen  one  another  before  were  called  upon  to  shoot  and 
slay  their  fellows  ;  labourers  who  had  never  so  much 
as  struck  a  brother-workman  in  a  quarrel  were  sent  out 
to  take  the  life  of  men  as  guiltless  as  themselves. 
Factories  worked  day  and  night  turning  out  wonderful 
contrivances  to  fling  steel  missiles  and  deathly  gas 
abroad  .  ,  ,  for  the  sake  of  their  country ! — the  country 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  811 

that  called  to  each  for  the  same  sacrifice.  And  when  the 
horror  was  past,  and  the  patient  beasts  were  driven 
homeward  once  more,  they  were  paid  with  the  same  old 
phrases — their  country's  thanks !  Heroes  who  had 
borne  a  part  in  the  struggle  for  the  right ;  in  the  cause 
of  culture  and  civilisation.  And  then — they  could  go 
back  to  their  work,  and  make  preparations  for  the  next 
occasion,  when  they  would  again  be  called  upon  to  let 
themselves  be  slaughtered  for  the  same  idea.  Thus 
each  country  called  to  its  own  ;  such  were  the  cheap 
and  senselessly  false  persuasions  with  which  victor  and 
vanquished  hypnotised  their  masses.  The  victims 
themselves  hardly  knew  what  it  all  meant ;  dazed  by 
the  incense  of  words,  they  saw  all  things  as  in  a  mist, 
behind  which  reigned  some  mystic,  uncomprehended 
fetish.  '  We  must  be  masters  of  the  world,'  for  in- 
stance, or  '  Prussian  militarism  must  be  annihilated — the 
freedom  of  the  world  maintained.'  Or  again  :  '  Your 
brothers — here  or  there — are  oppressed  ;  it  is  your  duty 
to  sacrifice  yourselves  in  their  cause.'  And  the  poor 
beasts  chew  upon  it  for  a  while,  and  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  must  be  right,  though  they  don't  quite 
understand.  .  .  .  Even  the  children.  .  .  .  Yes,  it  was 
there  one  should  begin.  First  the  children  should  be 
taught  to  understand  the  monstrous,  criminal  insanity 
of  the  thing  called  War. 

So  Zillner  thought  as  he  made  his  way  along,  scarcely 
knowing  whither.  He  was  thrown  off  his  balance 
entirely,  and  could  hardly  realise  what  had  happened 
to  him.  Back  to  the  hospital  he  could  not  go — not  yet. 
He  turned  down  a  quiet  street  in  the  old  quarter  of  the 
town — there  was  a  wineshop  there  where  he  had  often 
seen  wonderful  visions  in  the  polished  glasses  filled  with 
gold.     He  would  go  there  again. 

The  place  was  almost  deserted,  save  for  a  couple  of 
regular  customers  at  their  own  particular  table  in  one 
comer — sturdy  citizens,  manfully  deciding  the  over- 
throw of  Russia  under  the  influence  of  their  wine. 
They  nodded  in  salute  as  he  entered.    He  ordered  a 


312  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

bottle  of  Muscatel,  that  grand  strong  wine  that  can 
make  one  forget  all  troubles.  He  drank  off  the  first 
glass  at  a  draught ;  there  lay  as  it  were  a  reflection  of 
the  afternoon  in  the  bottom.  He  smoked  cigarettes, 
and  in  the  blue  clouds  he  seemed  to  see  figures  acting 
the  scene  that  had  passed.  After  all — ^was  it  worth 
troubling  about  ?  Another  glass  of  the  golden  comfort 
— surely  there  was  nothing  to  be  so  miserable  for. 

A  pretty  girl — ^who  happens  to  be  engaged.  Most 
pretty  girls  get  engaged  sooner  or  later.  And  as  for 
what  had  passed  in  the  spring — what  was  it  after  all  ? 
Something  he  had  imagined,  a  dream  without  words. 
How  could  a  man  build  up  hopes  upon  such  a  foundation? 
He  had  been  a  fool,  had  gone  on  telling  himself  all  sorts 
of  fanciful  things  about  her — and  meanwhile,  she  had 
found  some  one  else.     Some  one  who  was  not  a  cripple. 

He  emptied  the  third  glass. 

Enfin — a  girl !  Sort  of  ballast  for  life,  if  you  marry 
her.  He  himself  was  one  of  the  lonely  ones,  who  would 
not  be  able  to  share  their  kingdom  with  another.  No, 
he  was  alone,  and  must  remain  so.  After  all,  he  was 
free — free !  And  Zillner  fell  to  contemplating  the 
future  with  a  great  complacency. 

There  was  the  hospital — yes.  To-morrow  he  would 
take  a  flat  somewhere  outside  the  town,  where  he  could 
look  out  over  the  green  freshness  of  the  Wienerwald. 
And  there  he  could — what  ?  Look  at  the  others  who  were 
sound  and  whole,  while  he  himself  was  left  to  hobble 
about  day  after  day  monotonously,  telling  respectable 
citizens  the  tale  of  how  he  lost  his  leg,  until  they  all 
knew  the  story  by  heart.  And  at  last  he  would  be  a 
withered  and  irritable  invalid,  a  decrepit  super  in  a 
play  that  no  one  cared  to  remember.  And  always 
alone  .  .  .  alone.  .  .  .  Once  more  the  feeling  of  dread 
seized  him,  the  inexplicable  terror  of  something 
threatening,  which  had  come  upon  him  that  day  when 
Krottenburg  had  taken  leave  of  him  with  such  marked 
coolness.  He  glanced  over  at  the  two  men  in  the 
corner.    They  were  no  doubt  happy  enough — able  to 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  818 

make  themselves  comfortable  after  their  own  fashion, 
and  take  life  easily.  While  he — a  dreamer,  without  a 
place  in  the  world.  A  super — one  of  those  whose  part 
it  was  to  fall  and  be  dragged  off  the  stage.  .  .  .  Get  up 
again  ?  What  for  ?  What  good  would  it  do  him  ? — or 
any  one  else  ? 

The  fourth  glass  set  him  dreaming  again.  Out  by 
the  vineyards  ran  a  broad  river.  One  might  go  down 
to  the  water  and  glide  in,  and  be  borne  away,  to  sink 
down  beneath  kindly  waves.  To  rest  .  .  .  with  a 
weight  of  water  over  to  keep  one  safely  down.  He 
would  not  be  the  first.  And  better  that  than  to  stand 
by  helplessly  here  while  others  danced.  It  was  no  part 
for  him  to  play.  And  the  simple  folk,  the  common  men 
whom  he  had  cared  for,  they  would  not  thank  him  for 
standing  by  with  a  bitter  smile  while  they  were 
hopping  and  capering  at  their  little  festivals.  No, 
better  to  step  aside,  out  of  it  all.  There  was  a  river 
— it  would  carry  him  away  .  .  .  that  was  the  best. 
And  firmly,  confidently,  without  regret,  he  emptied 
the  fifth  glass. 

But  the  mischievous  demon  on  guard  that  day  was 
pleased  at  that  moment  to  open  the  door,  and  usher 
in  a  picture  of  life  with  a  triumphant  smile  on  the  lips. 

Hans  Heinz  Sarapatka  chanced  to  be  passing  that 
way,  and  his  imposing  figure  appeared  in  the  low  door- 
way to  the  little  room,  where  a  stern  resolution  had  just 
been  taken,  by  one  guest  sitting  alone,  while  the  respect- 
able citizens  in  the  corner  were  hiccuping  furiously  and 
thundering  with  patriotic  fists :  '  Down  with  the 
Muscovite  dogs! — make  an  end  of  them,  and  let  the 
cultured  peoples  .  .  .' 

Yes,  Hans  Heinz  had  appeared  at  the  proper  moment. 
His  elegant  figure  was  dressed  in  a  new  and  splendid 
service  uniform  ;  he  stood  for  a  moment,  first  of  all, 
in  a  picture  d  la  Frederick  the  Great :  '  Bonjour, 
monsieur,^  Then  he  caught  sight  of  Zillner,  and,  with 
an  expression  of  hearty  sympathy  on  his  Roman 
features,  advanced  towards  him.     '  A  fortunate  meeting 


314  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

— ^my  dear  fellow.  I  am  delighted !  And  the  cross 
too !  Sincere  congratulations,  indeed !  May  I  sit 
down  ?  ' 

Zillner  was  in  high  spirits  all  at  once.  '  How  are  you, 
my  dear  fellow  ?  '  he  said  cordially.  '  Well  rid  of  the 
contusion,  I  hope,  and  the  neurasthenia,  and  all  that  ? 
You  're  looking  so  fit,  one  might  think  you  were  going  to 
take  the  field  again  ?  ' 

Sarapatka  glanced  suspiciously  at  him  ;  there  was 
something  in  Zillner's  tone  that  he  could  not  quite 
make  out.  Was  he  drunk  by  any  chance  ?  '  Yes,'  he 
said  aloud.  '  To  the  Italian  front.  Songs  of  victory, 
you  know.  Proper  thing  at  the  proper  time.  No  more 
dull  office  work  drafting  proclamations.'  He  waved 
one  arm  majestically.  '  Isn't  it  grand  ?  The  front 
steadfast  as  a  steel  wall  on  every  side.  In  the  north, 
a  victorious  advance  such  as  the  world  has  never  seen ; 
in  the  south,  a  defence  simply  classic.  Stoical,  impene- 
trable as  the  granite  rocks  upon  which  the  brave 
defenders  stand.' 

'  Lie,  rather,'  corrected  Zillner  with  a  humorous 
glance.  '  And  so  you  're  going  to  sing  hallelujahs  to  it 
all  ?  Sort  of  peacemaker  for  the  professional  scribblers 
now  cheering  as  the  wind  blows  ?  That 's  right.  The 
proper  thing  at  the  proper  time.  I  remember  a  few 
months  back  when  it  was  rather  the  proper  thing  to  die 
— and  you  crept  away  to  the  rear  and  left  others  to  do 
the  dying.  They  're  dead  now.  Can't  sing  hymns  of 
victory — so  you  do.     Excellent.     Prosit !  ' 

Sarapatka  found  the  other's  jesting  tone  in  rather 
bad  taste  ;  he  did  not  know  quite  how  to  take  it.  But 
as  a  man  of  the  world  he  preserved  his  self-control,  and 
answered  easily :  '  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  quite  follow  you, 
my  dear  fellow.  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  protest 
against  the  general  trend  of  the  time ;  the  common 
glorious  awakening  of  a  spirit  of  unity.  The  public 
must  have  its  due.  It  is  not  to  be  satisfied  with  deeds 
alone,  but  craves  the  living  word.  It  would  be  futile  to 
try  and  swim  against  the  stream,' 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  815 

*  /  swim  against  the  stream.  And,  you  will  see,  the 
stream  will  turn  and  follow  me.' 

The  poet  was  no  longer  in  doubt — Zillner  was  drunk. 
The  air  of  wisdom  with  which  he  spoke  was  enough. 
But  it  would  not  do  to  notice  it.  And  he  went  on  easily 
as  before  :  '  It  doesn't  do  to  act  on  that  as  a  rule. 
People  who  do  are  apt  to  be  crucified,  or  burned  at  the 
stake.' 

'  Yes — and  they  submit  willingly,  for  their  words 
have  power  to  open  graves,  and  strew  the  earth  with 
flowers,  and  shed  a  light  over  all  the  world.' 

Hans  Heinz  knew  that  it  is  wiser  not  to  contradict 
the  drunk  and  the  mad.  So  he  nodded  assent.  '  A 
beautiful  thought,  and  prettily  expressed.  But,  believe 
me,  you  mistake  the  spirit  of  the  masses  altogether  if 
you  take  it  pessimistically.  Now  is  the  time  to  sow  the 
seed  of  great  and  inspiring  thoughts  among  them.  If 
we  had  been  defeated  .  .  .' 

'  Then  you  would  have  written  elegies  or  penitential 
hymns,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

*  And  why  not  ?  One  must  take  the  tone  and  spirit 
of  the  day,  and  work  from  that.  You  are  behind  the 
times,  with  your  dismal  reflections — ^we  who  know 
better  are  far  ahead  and  beyond — ^up  in  the  clouds.' 
He  threw  back  his  head,  and  drew  himself  up  with 
dignity.  '  The  mighty  spirit  of  these  days  of  victory  is 
upon  us  all,  even  the  least  of  us  is  caught  up  by  it  and 
must  follow  ! ' 

'  They  will  fall  to  earth  again  before  long,  helpless  as 
flies  in  winter.  And  they  will  be  sobered  then,  after 
their  flight ;  they  will  see  that  the  war  is  not  merely  a 
thrilling  picture  play  as  they  at  first  imagined.  "  Here 
you  are,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  The  World  War : 
monster  film  with  the  greatest  number  of  actors  ever 
known.  Real  powder  and  shot.  The  public  itself 
taking  part.  For  a  short  time  only — come  in  and  see 
it  now."  No,  they  will  shake  their  heads  and  realise 
that  they  have  lied  to  themselves  ;  when  the  best  of 
them  have  been  slaughtered  like  beasts,  after  living 


316  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

like  beasts  in  mud,  filth,  and  vermin — though  those 
who  appoint  the  impresarios  for  popular  entertainments 
of  that  kind  never  notice  it.  They  have  been  trampled 
down  there  at  the  front,  under  a  hail  of  lead,  and  in 
hospitals,  and  as  prisoners  in  Siberia.  Typhus,  cholera, 
dysentery  .  .  .  who  is  to  weigh  their  sighs,  who  is  to 
count  the  tears  they  shed  in  their  helplessness  ?  Who 
will  dare  now  to  console  us  with  the  empty  phrase  : 
"  The  country  needed  sacrifice  "  ?  A  roar  of  scornful 
laughter  would  ring  through  the  world  in  echo,  and  a 
voice  more  terrible  than  any  ever  heard  will  give  the 
answer,  a  voice  rising  up  from  the  choir  of  the  mourners, 
from  all  the  misery  of  the  world,  filling  the  air  with  its 
vibrations.  The  country  did  not  need  it !  What  the 
country  needed  was  work — the  work  of  hand  and  brain. 
The  development  of  its  toiling  millions  into  human 
beings,  using  the  time  they  have  to  live  to  good  purpose, 
and  then  passing  out  to  nothingness,  having  their  reward 
in  the  hearts  of  children  that  remember  them.  That  is 
the  country's  need — and  it  is  not  to  be  won  by  years 
spent  in  shooting  our  fellow-men.' 

*  My  dear  Sir  Prophet  and  Soothsayer,  you  are  in  error,' 
put  in  Hans  Heinz  with  gentle  remonstrance,  as  if  talking 
to  an  invalid.  ' Peace  must  be  bought  in  the  first  place ; 
from  the  earliest  times  it  has  been  the  nature  of  man  to 
fight  and  plunder.  Woe  to  the  land  that  tries  to  live 
in  peace  without  making  itself  secure  by  battle.' 

'  It  is  an  artificial  patriotism  that  preaches  that 
text,'  said  Zillner  quietly,  looking  steadily  before  him. 
'  And  none  of  mine.  There  has  never  been  a  labourer 
or  a  peasant,  an  artist  or  a  scientist,  who  wished  for 
war.  They  are  only  too  glad  to  live  in  peace,  side  by 
side,  one  sowing,  another  hammering,  another  teaching. 
And  the  few  in  whose  heads  a  God  sits  dreaming — the 
very  few  in  which  a?  God  sits  and  thinks — they  love 
humanity  too  well  to  wish  that  it  should  have  to 
purchase  the  freedom  to  work  with  bullets  and  powder. 
No  !  Among  these  millions,  the  only  struggle  is  that 
which  has  always  been,  between  the  skilful  and  the 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  817 

unskilful  worker  ;  the  ineradicable  and  healthy  struggle 
for  the  right  of  ability  to  precedence.' 

'  All  that 's  just  social  paradoxes,'  said  Hans  Heinz, 
shaking  his  head  with  a  thoughtful  expression.  '  They 
may  be  some  use  in  some  distant  future,  but  the  pro- 
blems of  our  present  day  must  be  solved  with  blood. 
There  is  no  help  for  it — blood  is  the  only  thing  that  can 
prevent  the  earth  on  which  we  work  from  drying  up 
into  barren  sand.' 

'  No,  no,'  insisted  Zillner  earnestly.  '  There  again 
you  are  talking  artificial  patriotism.  The  phrase  is  one 
of  those  coined  by  the  few  who  have  duped  the  many.' 

'  What  few  ?  '  The  poet  looked  with  a  certain  half- 
unwilling  interest  at  this  extraordinary  eccentric,  whose 
pale  face  was  now  flushed  with  sudden  heat. 

'  Let  me  tell  you.  First  of  all,  there  are  those  who 
look  upon  war  as  an  exciting  game  for  high  stakes, 
people  whose  fortunate  lot  it  is  to  look  on  from  a 
distance,  away  from  death  and  the  peril  of  death.  They 
hope  that  the  war  will  puff  their  mediocrity  up  to  im- 
mortal fame.  With  these  rank  the  higher  leaders  and 
their  assistants,  those  who  drive  on  the  masses  ;  they 
too  look  forward  to  monuments  commemorating  their 
fame  as  conquerors  of  their  country's  enemies.  And 
who  are  their  enemies  ?  Russian  peasants — or  Austrian, 
Serbian,  Italian,  English,  Turkish — have  they  any  con- 
ception of  being  enemies  ?  Or  the  workers  from  the 
factories  in  the  towns — do  they  long  to  crush  in  the 
skulls  of  fellow  workers  living  thousands  of  miles  away, 
men  whom  they  have  never  seen  ?  No — a  thousand 
times  no  !  It  is  the  leaders  behind  who  shout  and  roar 
out  phrases  about  the  country's  need  and  eternal  fame 
— and  the  peasants  and  workers  who  are  driven  on  to 
slay  their  fellows.' 

Hans  Heinz  took  a  cigarette  from  his  gold  case,  lit 
it,  and  blew  clouds  of  smoke  towards  the  ceiling.  '  You 
touch  on  problems  which  every  thoughtful  man  must 
consider  for  himself  at  some  time  or  another.  But  it  is 
out  of  our  power  to  solve  them.' 


318  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

'  But  you  creative  spirits  are  just  the  very  ones  who 
should  whet  these  thoughts  to  a  keener  point,  that  they 
can  penetrate  into  the  minds  of  the  masses.  What  are 
you  here  for,  if  not  to  serve  humanity  and  the  humane 
in  higher  spheres  ?  ' 

The  poet  reached  out  one  hand  and  flicked  the  ash 
from  his  cigarette.  It  was  an  elegant  hand,  with  a 
gold  bracelet  on  the  wrist.  '  We  are  here  to  live  in 
harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the  time.  From  our  higher 
sphere,  we  look  down  upon  it  and  shape  it,'  he  said 
with  dignity. 

'  Excellent.  As  Gk)ethe  used  to  do.  Or,  to  use  a 
more  modern  illustration,  like  the  profiteers  of  the 
industrial,  commercial,  and  financial  aristocracy,  who 
are  also  interested  in  the  maintenance  of  an  artificial 
patriotism.  They  clap  their  hands  enthusiastically  at 
the  slaughter,  knowing  well  that  the  bloodshed  will  serve 
their  ends.  They  support  the  war,  swear  by  it,  and 
only  condemn  its  regrettable  consequences  when  it 
happens  that  their  competitor  on  the  other  side  bags 
most  of  the  profit.     We  want  a  new  world,  my  friend.' 

Hans  Heinz  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair. 

'  It  is  all  indeterminate  at  present,'  went  on  Zillner. 
'Once  the  egoism  of  the  few  has  been  crushed  by  a 
concentrated  will  to  resist  on  the  part  of  the  many, 
then  no  one  will  listen  to  them  any  more — not  even  to 
those  inexterminable  vermin,  the  priests.  The  priests 
are  partners  in  the  whole  thing — always  ready  to  bolster 
up  horrors  and  crimes  as  the  will  of  God,  and  preaching 
at  every  opportunity  that  war  is  a  divine  institution. 
In  case  of  need,  they  even  talk  of  a  holy  war,  and  de- 
clare that  the  world  will  never  be  rid  of  it.  Bominus 
vobiscum  ! ' 

'  Et  cum  spiritu  tuo,^  added  Hans  Heinz.  '  But  it  is 
only  fair  to  admit  that  when  the  bells  are  chiming  for 
peace,  they  are  equally  able  to  find  divine  authority  for 
their  requiescant  in  pace.^ 

'  Cunning  prompters  to  the  stage  of  a  lying  theatre  ; 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  819 

wily  advocates  for  those  who  take  care  to  keep  out  of 
the  shadow  of  death  I  They  bless  the  war  1  And  the 
cultivators  of  artificial  patriotism — they  prepare  it. 
Save  for  them,  there  would  be  no  war.  The  fable  of  an 
inherent  instinct  in  men  to  slay  their  fellows  is  an 
accursed  lie  !  '  Zilhier  had  spoken  the  last  words  in 
a  voice  trembling  with  anger,  and  sat  now  biting 
his  lips. 

Sarapatka  made  no  answer.  Evidently,  the  man  was 
ill,  or  at  any  rate  nervous,  and  his  attitude  was,  to  say 
the  least,  foolish.  He  had  no  idea  of  taking  advantage 
of  a  situation.  After  all,  a  poor  cripple,  what  could  he 
do  anyway  ?  Hans  Heinz  looked  at  his  watch.  The 
good  citizens  in  the  corner  had  thrust  their  chairs  back 
and  were  preparing  to  leave  ;  the  waiter,  who  had  been 
leaning  drowsily  against  the  stove,  came  forward  and 
hovered  about  in  readiness.  The  bibulous  patriots 
settled  their  bill,  and  walked  out  with  unsteady  dignity, 
with  a  gesture  of  farewell  to  Zillner  and  his  companion 
as  they  passed.  ^  Ja,  Beyerl,'  one  of  them  was  saying. 
'  A  great  time.  Just  a  year  ago  now,  I  was  at  Crado, 
for  a  holiday,  bathing  in  the  sea  every  day  with  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  both  sexes,  and  now  they  're  fighting 
and  killing  each  other  all  about.  A  great  time — ay,  a 
terrible  time  ! ' 

Hans  Heinz  rose  to  take  his  leave.  '  It 's  gettuig 
late.     I  'm  going  off  to-morrow,  so  I  shall  hardly  .  .  .' 

'  I  understand.  Sending  out  winged  words.  I  hope 
the  Italians  will  appreciate  your  style.     Good-bye.' 

'  Now  you  're  sarcastic,  I  suppose,'  said  the  poet  in 
good-humoured  condescension.  '  You  must  try  and 
pull  yourself  together,  my  dear  fellow.  Get  out  more 
into  the  air,  and  it  will  freshen  you  up.  So  long  1 ' 
And  he  strode  off  with  light,  easy  steps,  consciously  a 
victor  in  life's  race. 

Zillner  sat  on,  staring  into  the  haze  of  smoke  that 
formed  misty  halos  round  the  little  electric  lamps  on 
the  walls.  The  waiter  was  leaning  against  the  stove, 
with  a  serviette  over  his  arm,  apparently  dozing.     And 


320  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

once  more  he  felt  the  same  horror  of  lonehness  creeping 
upon  him.     Alone  .  .  .  alone.  .  .  .' 

Yes,  men  could  pass  him  by,  like  that  cunning  boaster 
who  had  just  gone.  All  of  them.  Pushing  by,  thrusting 
their  way  on,  while  he  was  left  to  sit  in  a  corner  and 
clench  his  fists  at  them,  murmuring  endlessly  a  refrain 
of  how  he  had  once  been  as  strong  and  sound  as  they. 
Once — and  now  ?  And  what  had  brought  him  to  it  ? 
He  was  as  innocent  as  they,  yet  he  was  cast  aside,  a 
cripple.  They  would  smile  in  careless  pity,  and  say 
nothing.  Would  pass  on  and  leave  him  behind,  to 
hobble  as  he  might  in  search  of  life,  a  lonely  man,  with 
no  place  in  the  world.  Ay,  and  in  time  an  eccentric,  a 
poor  cripple,  weak  in  the  head.  Grey -haired  at  last,  and 
a  jest  for  children  :  '  Hi,  loony,  tell  us  about  the  war — 
tell  us  a  story,  softy.'  .  .  .  Yes,  that  would  be  his  part ; 
a  witless  man,  called  on  to  make  sport  for  thoughtless 
urchins  in  the  street.  No — he  would  not  live  to  be 
jeered  at  by  children.  Though,  after  all,  the  children  .  .  . 
children  were  the  one  thing  he  cared  most  for  now  in  all 
the  world.  But  for  that  very  reason  he  could  not  bear 
it.     No  ;  there  was  a  river.  .  .  . 

Zillner  drove  back  to  the  hospital  in  a  cab  with 
wonderful  soft  springs.     His  trouble  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  whole  country  was  decked  with  broideries  of  red 
and  green  and  gold  ;  they  hung  from  the  trees,  flowed 
out  over  the  vineyards,  and  flamed  in  the  avenues. 
Millions  of  leaves  still  breathed,  but  they  were  red  as 
in  the  flush  of  fever,  or  stared  out  yellowly,  and  had 
begun  to  bid  farewell  to  the  world.  Only  the  strongest 
and  hardiest  clung  fast  to  their  branches.  The  frost 
was  still  far  off ;  they  would  not  pale  until  it  came.  And 
then  there  were  the  pines  ;  dark  green  and  untroubled 
amid  the  resignation  of  the  early  fading  trees  that 
knew  their  yearly  death  was  near.  And  above  the  soft 
rain  of  leaves  from  the  simimer- wearied,  the  hectic 
flush  of  the  sick,  and  the  calm  of  the  evergreen,  rose  the 
golden  blue  of  the  sky.  Fine  white  gossamer  threads 
played  in  the  air,  fastened  themselves  to  the  vines  on 
the  heights  of  Kahlenberg,  floated  hesitatingly  over  the 
forests,  or  were  caught  up  by  the  telegraph  wires  or  the 
branches  of  creepers  on  the  roofs  of  houses.  The  river, 
too,  was  sparkling  in  the  autumn  sunlight.  It  glided 
lazily  out  from  between  the  hills,  with  silvery-white 
streaks  of  light  dancing  on  its  faintly  rippled  surface. 
Nature  was  keeping  holiday — one  of  these  festal  days 
when  all  the  delight  of  life  seems  poured  out  over  tlic 
earth  in  brightness  and  warmth  and  a  quiet,  drowsy 
calm. 

Zillner  rejoiced  at  it  all.  Gk>d  was  kind,  to  let  iiiiu 
feel  thus  how  good  it  was  to  be  alive  I  It  would  have 
been  sad  to  take  leave  of  life  in  rain  and  storm,  but  now 
— it  was  pleasant  and  good. 

The  road  passed  close  beside  the  river  ;  some  beeches 
leaned  out  over  the  bank.  And  in  the  water  itself,  the 
willows  crept  out  right  to  the  white  stones  of  the  em- 


822  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

bankment.  He  looked  out  over  the  river.  It  came 
gliding  out  in  a  mighty  curve  from  the  west,  went 
gurgling  past,  and  disappeared  in  a  dull  silver-grey  mist 
far  to  the  east.  A  little  black  steamer  was  making  its 
way  down  the  channel  under  a  trail  of  smoke,  hauling  a 
chain  of  heavy  barges  after  it. 

Fodder  for  the  iDeasts  to  be  slaughtered  in  Serbia, 
thought  Zillner — meal  to  fill  their  bellies  before  the 
next  attempt.  Then  over  the  river  again,  dashing  on 
like  a  pack  of  wolves,  into  a  mSlee  of  tearing  and  gnash- 
ing and  flaying.  Urged  forward  out  of  the  dark  and 
dulhiess  and  narrowness  of  view  by  the  cry :  '  Kill  the 
others,  for  they  are  your  enemies.'  Thus  they  would 
dash  screaming  across  the  Danube,  to  tear  at  the  throats 
of  men.  In  the  early  Middle  Ages,  they  had  marched 
towards  the  east,  under  the  bloody  fetish  of  the  Cross. 
The  same  sun  had  looked  down  on  the  armies  of  madmen 
assembled  in  the  holy  name  of  the  Saviour.  The  wave 
of  peoples  surged  back  again,  with  the  Crescent  at  its 
head ;  in  the  name  of  Him  whom  they  did  not  understand 
came  the  same  mad  cry  from  the  east.  The  Danube  had 
seen  it  all.  Had  seen  the  fury  of  the  Swede,  and  the 
rapacity  of  the  great  Corsican.  All,  all  for  the  sake  of 
some  catchword !  And  now — now,  thought  Zillner, 
it  is  the  madness  of  nationality  that  is  raging  over  a 
bleeding  world.  Growing  up  over  the  culture  of  nations, 
shutting  them  out  one  from  another,  building  walls  and 
ramparts  of  misunderstanding  and  suspicion  between 
them.  It  was  the  new  religion  of  misguided  humanity, 
and  for  its  sake  the  angel  of  murder  had  harried  the 
earth  for  over  a  year.  That  one  idea  which  severed 
people  from  people,  and  tore  Europe  asunder,  was  it  to 
be  the  last  thought  in  the  minds  of  the  people  of  earth  ? 
Zillner  stared  out  over  the  water.  Would  there  come 
a  day,  beyond  the  laurels  and  the  monuments  and 
banners,  and  the  ringing  speeches,  when  a  new  Saviour 
should  lead  His  little  ones  forth,  from  the  dark  cellars 
where  they  cowered,  into  a  home  fit  for  human  souls  ? 
Would  there  come  a  day  when  pitiless  scornful  laughter 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  828 

would  make  an  end  of  the  lying  phrases  that  called 
the  murdering  of  men  a  necessary  sacrifice  ?  He 
found  no  answer.  The  stream  glided  by,  and  its 
sluggish  waters  seemed  only  to  murmur :  *  Vanity — all 
is  vanity  1 ' 

He  clambered  up  on  to  the  embankment  and  smiled 
at  himself — cripple  and  clairvoyant — seeing  all  things 
darkly.  Something  in  him  whispered  of  another  way 
the  world  might  take  :  a  generation  of  robust  and 
self-taught  individuals,  unaffected  by  the  lying  incon- 
sistencies of  so-called  intellectuals ;  liberated  from  the 
paralysing  faith  in  the  validity  of  black  and  white 
assertions  —  free  from  the  weakness  of  the  leading 
classes  with  their  fractional  thoughts,  their  obsequious 
words,  and  their  carefully  composed  enthusiasm ;  im- 
mune from  the  half-hearted  ill-will  of  the  lazy  and 
weary  ones  in  drawing-rooms  and  departments.  Yes 
— &  generation  of  whole -minded,  earnest  men,  who 
should  search  for  the  truth,  like  bloodhounds,  and 
perchance  find  it.  But  would  they  not  then  be  too 
harsh,  too  intolerant  and  unsympathetic  ? — part  pro- 
selytising zealots,  part  tyrants  ?  The  men  of  mature 
mind  would  turn  from  them  if  so ;  their  words  would 
ring  in  the  empty  air,  or  find  echo  only  in  the  mouths  of 
the  foolish.  It  was  idle,  idle,  idle  to  think  of  it  all  I  All 
things  were  in  a  flowing  mass,  like  the  quiet  river  itself. 
The  lightest  stuff,  however  worthless,  floated  on  the 
surface,  all  that  was  weighty  sank  beneath  the  waves. 
The  human  mind  could  not  grasp  the  dream  of  a  God 
fashioned  in  its  own  image  I  .  .  .  And  all  the  good  things 
that  sprang  from  the  sun,  all  the  sacred  warmth  in  the 
eyes  of  children  and  dreamers,  could  not  drive  away 
their  dark  inheritance.  The  shadow  of  freedom  creeps 
after  men  from  the  dark  clefts  of  the  past ;  in  vain  the 
best  of  them  seek  safety,  making  towards  the  sun  ;  the 
rest  are  captured  by  the  shadow  once  more.  And  they 
grope  about  in  its  darkness,  endlessly,  endlessly.  .  .  . 
Peace  I  One  day,  sooner  or  later,  a  sunbeam  would 
steal  down  to  them  in  the  dark.    They  would  rise  up 


324  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

from  their  maze  of  blood  and  smoke  and  cheering,  and 
look  on  one  another  in  astonishment.  What  had  it  been 
like,  that  tirr  e  ?  Rub  their  eyes  and  wonder  !  Had 
there  ever  really  been  any  such  time  at  all  ?  The  priests 
would  swing  their  censers :  '  Great  God,  we  praise  Thee ! ' 
The  bells  chiming,  men  of  letters  writing  hymns,  and 
here  and  there  monuments  appearing.  But  already 
the  longing  to  forget  it  all  is  growing  up  among  the 
masses.  Life — life,  is  the  cr5^  The  dead  find  words  ; 
the  all  too  living  coin  them.  ...  A  madhouse,  thought 
Zillner,  the  world  was  a  madhouse.  They  would  rejoice 
at  a  state  which  they  had  taken  before  for  granted,  now 
that  it  had  returned.  They  would  shout  and  fall  on 
one  another's  necks  for  joy  that  they  were  no  longer  to 
tear  at  one  another's  throats.  There  would  be  waving 
of  flags,  and  the  common  folk  would  follow  the  phrase 
of  the  day,  until  a  new  desire  of  plunder,  a  new  catch- 
word, herded  them  once  more  together  for  a  new 
slaughtering.     And  call  it  holy  ! 

What  \v'as  there  for  him  to  do  in  this  world  of  the 
blind,  thought  Zillner.  How  could  he  bear  to  live  on, 
when  his  heart  was  rent  by  the  lying  chorus  to  which 
all  danced — some  stupidly  heedless,  some  with  a  hypo- 
critical mask  of  faith,  and  some  grumbling  like  unwilling 
beasts. 

To  sink  down  happily  into  the  nothing  whence  we 
came,  and  whither  we  must  return — that  was  the  best 
way  for  such  men  as  he  in  such  an  age — an  age  the  world 
called  *  great.' 

He  threw  away  his  crutches,  and  slid  down  the  bank 
towards  the  water.  The  river  sent  up  a  murmur 
of  kindly  greeting.  The  sun  smiled  gently  down 
upon  him,  and  the  willows  seemed  whispering :  '  Home, 
home !  * 

He  drew  himself  forward  over  the  sharp  stones 
toward  the  water,  and  braced  his  arms  for  the  last 
thrust. 

There  was  a  sound  of  children's  voices.  It  came 
from  the  beeches,  a  wave  of  prattle  and  laughter  and 


CAPTAIN  ZILLNER  825 

delighted  cries,  the  sweetly  simple  utterings  of  the  only 
beings  that  are  truly  glad. 

Zilhier  listened.  The  young  voices  danced  on  the 
air  behind  him,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  green  wall. 
Some  seemed  to  be  leaping  joyfully  up  into  the  air, 
others  tumbling  about  like  puppies  on  the  grass,  or 
hovering  like  the  song  of  larks  high  in  the  blue.  They 
were  singing. 

Zillner  stared  into  the* wall  of  green,  and  trembled. 
Children  !  The  one  thing  he  loved  best  in  all  the  world. 
He  must  see  them — once  more  he  must  see.  .  .  . 

And  he  crept  up  the  slope  to  where  he  had  dropped 
his  crutches.  Shyly,  tremblinjg  with  the  yearning  of 
his  heart,  he  hobbled  towards  the  green  curtain  whence 
the  voices  came.  But  when  he  reached  the  road,  under 
the  shade  of  the  trees,  the  sound  had  gone.  Far  away 
a  laugh  and  a  gay  calling  faded  away  into  the  silence  of 
the  beeches. 

He  stood  bending  forward  to  listen.  Then  suddenly 
there  was  the  sound  of  little  feet  tripping  through  the 
wood,  and  a  child  ciying.  A  moment  later  a  little  girl 
stood  before  him. 

'  Where  have  they  gone  ?  '  she  asked,  looking  up  with 
a  pitiful  grimace.  '  I  Ve  lost  the  others  ;  please,  can 
you  tell  me  where  they  are  ?  '  The  child's  clothes  were 
toni  and  plastered  with  dirt.  She  looked  up  tearfully, 
with  guilty  dread,  at  the  big  man. 

*  Where  did  you  lose  them,  little  one  ?  * 

'  We — we  were  picking  berries,  and  I  fell  down  in  a 
hole,  and  then  they  were  gone.' 

*  Come  with  me,  then,'  said  Zillner,  taking  the  child's 
hand  ;  *  we  '11  go  along  together  and  find  them.  Never 
fear.' 

The  child  stopped  whimpering.  Then,  looking  up, 
she  asked,  *  But  why  have  you  only  got  one  leg  ? 
We  shall  never"  catch  up  with  them  now  ?  Can  you 
run  ?  ' 

*  Run — I  '11  fly — you  see  I  But  you  must  fly  on,  and 
I  '11  call  out  and  tell  you  the  way.' 


326  CAPTAIN  ZILLNER 

So,  following  a  little  girl  with  torn  and  draggled 
clothes,  Zillner  hobbled  along  in  search  of  the  children, 
the  little  saviours  of  the  world. 

And  the  golden  trees  seemed  waving  towards  him 
in  greeting. 


THE   END 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  td  His  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


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